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PKINCIPLES 

OP 

ELOCUTION 



CONTAINING NUMEROUS 



RULES, OBSERVATIONS, AND EXERCISES, 

ON 

PRONUNCIATION, PAUSES, INFLECTIONS, ACCENT, 
AND EMPHASIS; 

ALSO 

COPIOUS EXTRACTS 
Jtt frost awo pactrt), 

CALCULATED TO ASSIST THE TEACHER, AND TO IMPROVE THE PUPIL. 
IN READING AND RECITATION. 



By THOMAS ^WING, 

Author of A System of Geography, A New General Atlas, 
The English Learner, &c. 



THOROUGHLY REVISED AND GREATLY IMPROVED 

By F. B. CALVERT, A.M., 

Of the New College, Edinburgh, and the Edinburgh Academy. 



f Ijtrtietl) (EMttoti. 



EDINBURGH: 
OLIVER & BOYD, TWEEDDALE COURT. 

LONDON : SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, & CO. 

1852. 




[Price Three Shillings and Sixpence bound.] 






£« 



V 



Printed by Oliver & Boyd, 
Tweeddale Coiort, High Street, Edinbiirgh. 



INTRODUCTORY OBSERVATIONS 

TO THE 

THIRTIETH AND REVISED EDITION. 



The attention paid to the art of Composition, and the comparative 
neglect of the sister art of Elocution or Delivery, form a singular 
anomaly in the system of modern education. That this anomaly 
should exist in an era so remarkable for refinement and expansion 
of intellect as the nineteenth century, — that it should exist in a 
nation among the most enlightened and refined of this refined era, 
in a nation, too, more systematically employing and relying more 
on the art of oratory than any other people of modern times, — is 
not less extraordinary, than at first sight it appears unaccountable. 
But whatever causes may have contributed to the neglect of an art 
which formed so prominent a feature in ancient education, they 
cannot account for the vicious and unnatural style of delivery which 
so generally prevails, resulting not merely from inattention to the 
art, but apparently from some other cause of deep and almost uni- 
versal operation. 

There is perhaps no principle more powerful for good or evil than 
the principle of association. In some cases, in the very familiar one 
of fashion in dress, for example, its effect is almost immediate. A 
few days suffice to reconcile the eye to costumes which not only 
disguise but actually mar the symmetry of the human figure ; and 
we soon dwell, not only without dissatisfaction, but with positive 
pleasure, upon a style of dress, which at first sight shocks us as 
unnatural and absurd. And this is purely the work of association. 
It is with much that we value and admire, with wealth and rank, 
with youth, beauty, and fashion, that these innovations in costume 
originate, and, however ridiculous in themselves, they soon become 
respectable by their connexion with objects, which have a natural 
or conventional claim to our admiration and esteem. If it were 
possible for these caprices of fashion to take their rise from the 
opposite extreme of society, if they were associated in their origin 
with the squalor and degradation and all the revolting attributes 
of abject poverty, no length of time would conciliate the eye, or 
strip them of any portion of their native deformity. Applying this 



IV INTRODUCTORY OBSERVATIONS. 

principle, then, to the art of Elocution, it is evident that the style of 
reading and delivery to which we have been most accustomed from 
infancy, and which is at the same time recommended to us by the 
most powerful and imposing associations, will exercise a decisive 
influence upon our taste and practice as readers and speakers ; and 
what style is this? Almost before we can articulate avc are con- 
ducted to a place of weekly worship. There we hear the Scriptures 
read and expounded, and discourses addressed to us by men for 
whose character and attainments we are very properly trained to 
entertain the highest respect, and of any error in whose taste or 
practice we cannot at that early age even conceive the possibility. 
Week after week, month after month, and year after year, we listen 
to the same style of inflection, intonation, and delivery, till at length 
it becomes familiar to our taste and hallowed to our associations ; 
and yet, after all, this style unfortunately is not always the purest 
and the best. 

Although preaching, as a vehicle of religious instruction, dates its 
origin from the foundation of Christianity, yet there is no doubt 
that since the Eeformation it has been much more systematical! v 
employed by every religious denomination. In England, owing to 
the decided contrast in character, education, and feeling which for- 
merly existed between the dissenting and the Episcopal divine, 
their respective styles early assumed an antagonistic form, and 
by mutual repulsion were thrown into the opposite extremes of 
fervour and frigidity. The nonconformist, heated with sectarian 
zeal, and despising that learning and refinement to which he was 
a stranger, indulged in fervid appeals to the feelings and the 
conscience of his hearers. His discourses were conceived in a 
high strain of enthusiasm, and, with much unction and honest 
earnestness, displayed little taste and less erudition. Conscious of 
superior attainments, and shocked by the vulgar vehemence of 
the dissenter, the Church of England divine took refuge in the 
opposite extreme : studiously suppressing every indication of feel- 
ing, he addressed himself to the understanding only, and opposed 
the weapon of frigid and erudite dissertation to the unlettered 
enthusiasm of the conventicle ; and hence came to be estab- 
lished the opinion with many, that it is gentlemanly to be 
passive and indifferent, and consequently ungentlemanly to invest 



INTRODUCTORY OBSERVATIONS. V 

language, either in public or private, with any degree of vivacity. 
It is doubtless the part of the Christian to repress all improper 
emotion, as it is the part of the gentleman to moderate and refine even 
the most praiseworthy and allowable ; but that the orator should be 
expected to move and influence others, by showing that he is him- 
self uninfluenced and unmoved, is as absurd in theory as it must 
infallibly prove abortive in practice. 

The perfect model of this gentlemanly indifference is the North 
American Indian — he carries the pride of passive grandeur beyond 
the most fastidious inmate of a court; but he knows its character 

well to apply it to his oratory. He is at the same time the 
most impassioned of speakers, and the most passive and imper- 
turbable of men. Who can bear or forbear like him ? When it is 
necessary to be silent, or unnecessary to speak, no one can exercise 
more perfect self-control. He listens to language most repugnant 
to his sentiments or most galling to his feelings without the slightest 
indication of dissatisfaction or dissent. His passions, however deeply 

ed or stung, are mute and motionless. The tempest raging below 
sends not even a ripple to the surface. He sits in seeming apathy, 
the statue of himself. But let the time for action arrive, he becomes 
a totally different being. As rising to speak he casts aside his 
blanket or buffalo robe to allow freedom to his movements, with it 
he casts aside the reserve which has hitherto enveloped him. His 
voice gradually rises into the shrill tones of passion, his eye light- 
ens, the muscles of his countenance quiver with emotion, and his 
action is wild and energetic in a degree which, to an audience not 
wrought up to perfect sympathy with the speaker, would appear 
extravagant and unnatural. But in all this there is no departure 
from character. There is meaning and method in his vehemence 
as in his quietude. His object is no longer to control his own feel- 
ings, but to rouse the feelings of others, and to effect this he knows 
that his own must have unfettered scope ; and there is no question 
that in the degree that we feel, and that we ought to feel, expression 
must be given to that feeling if we intend to make any impression. 
These opposite extremes of apathy and overstrained energy have 
tended to vitiate oratory in England ; while other causes, too nu- 
merous to specify, have had an injurious effect in the northern part 
of the island. Owing to a variety of circumstances, much of the 



VI INTRODUCTORY OBSERVATIONS. 

simple and impulsive style of conversation has been banished from 
the pulpit, and, to a certain extent, from general oratory; and in its 
stead have been substituted inflections, tones, and transitions, which 
have no foundation in nature, and, when carried to an extreme, 
have something so singular to the unperverted ear as to excite a 
strong sensation of the ludicrous. These remarks, however, are not 
meant to be of general application. 

Many preachers are very slightly infected with these peculiarities, 
others altogether exempt from them ; but they are characteristic of 
the school, and more or less perceptible in the majority of its 
pupils. Nor is the present generation of speakers to be held re- 
sponsible for the blemishes of a style which they have not originated 
but received, and which none can more strongly condemn, or be 
more anxious to reform, than many of themselves. 

The natural style of enunciation being thus abandoned to the 
stage, has been subjected to much of the prejudice which, in 
many minds, arises out of that connexion ; and the simple and 
expressive accents of ordinary life, when, accompanied with any 
degree of vivacity, have been stigmatized as theatrical : and it is 
to be lamented that the bad taste of some popular preachers, who 
have carried the extreme dramatic style into the pulpit, has given 
too much plausibility to the imputation. It would seem however 
that, from some cause or other, possibly from the difficulty of being 
simple and direct in a highly artificial state of society, the oratory 
of polished nations has always had a tendency to fall from truth 
into artifice and false convention. Cicero dwells at considerable 
length upon this subject, and, in his favourite style of antithesis, 
charges the Eoman orators with having abandoned nature to the 
actors. " Haec ego dico pluribus, quod genus hoc totum oratores, 
qui sunt veritatis ipsius actores, reliquerunt ; imitatores autem ve- 
ritatis histriones occupaverunt." 

But any style of delivery, however objectionable, will derive from 
association a lustre not its own, when adopted by speakers of ex- 
traordinary fascination and power. There is a genius of that lofty 
and gigantic caste which can dispense with manner altogether, or 
mould any manner into energy and impressiveness, as his very 
crutch in the hand of Chatham became a powerful instrument of 
oratory ; and there have been men in Scotland, Dr Chalmers for 



INTRODUCTORY OBSERVATIONS. Vil 

instance, and there are at this very time, men so highly gifted, 
uid of such extraordinary powers of persuasion, as to throw a 
lazzling and seductive halo round the most imperfect manner; 
;vnd these are of all others the most dangerous models to the stu- 
lent, as he is naturally tempted to imitate, not the grandeur of 
iheir genius, which is indeed inimitable, but the mere external 
medium which that genius has elevated and ennobled. Thus early 
neglect and defective example combine to place the student of or- 
dinary ability in a very painful and embarrassing position. 

At .an age when his manner is formed, and the organs of speech 
are hardened into almost inflexible rigidity, he first discovers that 
something is wrong ; he then applies himself in earnest to the study 
of Elocution, in the absurd expectation of effacing in a few lessons 
the habits of years, and of acquiring in a short time the mastery of 
an art which, from the union it requires of judgment, taste, and 
feeling, with natural qualifications and mechanical skill, is probably 
surpassed by none m difficulty of acquisition. Hence, when called 
upon to speak on the real business of life, he exhibits the humiliating 
spectacle of a person of mature age employed in the minute and 
puerile task of attending to inflections, tones, and gestures, and 
hence, too, that discredit is thrown upon the art, which properly 
belongs to the unskilfulness of the artist. 

The obvious remedy for this would be to commence the study of 
Elocution at an early age under competent masters, and to carry it ■ 
on simultaneously with other branches" of education. The student's 
proficiency in the art would thus keep pace with his other attain- 
ments, and, when called upon to address his fellow-men, correctness 
of intonation, ease in action, and general propriety of manner, would 
come as naturally to him as the manners of good society flow un- 
consciously from the gentleman, or as grammatical accuracy and all 
the graces of composition wait unbidden on every movement of the 
practised pen. 

But from the pupil who has been the victim of neglect or erro- 
neous instruction; the painful truth must not be concealed, that he 
has an arduous though by no means an insuperable task before 
him — to be better he must be worse. His first steps must of neces- 
sity be retrograde, for his only path to improvement leads through 
the transition state, which is always a state of weakness and de- 



Vlll INTRODUCTORY OBSERVATIONS. 

formity. Let him labour steadily and perseveringly in private, but 
cast aside all attention to manner when engaged in addressing an 
audience — let improvement be the gradual and unconscious result 
of previous practice. He will thus avoid all appearance of display. 
and of a puerile preference of the means to the great ends to be 
attained by them. 

Among the different class-books of Elocution which have been long 
in use, Ewing's Selection has always enjoyed a large share of popu- 
lar favour ; in proof of which we need only point to the number of 
editions it has gone through, the present revision being the thirtieth. I 
The book, however, has been so long in the hands of the pupil 
that its contents have lost much of their freshness and interest, and 
a renewal of the work has been much wished for by the public. In 
the present edition, therefore, all such extracts as could be replaced 
by others of equal, if not superior, merit have been expunged. The 
selections from Dr Blair's Sermons formed a prominent feature in 
the previous edition, to the exclusion of many great names : their 
number therefore is now much reduced, to make room for some spec- 
imens of the distinguishing styles of Jeremy Taylor, South, Barrow, 
Chalmers, Eobert Hall, Foster, and others. Dryden's unrivalled 
Ode on the Feast of Alexander, the picturesque and graceful Ode on 
the Passions by Collins, Campbell's polished and spirited Lyrics, and 
other pieces, embracing some of the most splendid specimens of 
the national language and genius, could not have been omitted with- 
out greatly impoverishing the collection by robbing it of its choicest 
ornaments. These, therefore, have not been disturbed, as the whole 
range of our literature can furnish nothing worthy to supply their 
place. They have lost much of their novelty no doubt ; it is at 
once the proof and penalty of their surpassing excellence. 



CONTENTS. 



Page 
Different Methods by which the Principles and Lessons may be suc- 
cessfully Taught, 7 

General Rules and Observations on Eeading and Eecitation, 8 

INFLECTIONS. 

Table of Inflections, 9 

On the Inflections of the Voice, 10 

The Final Pause or Period, 10 

Negative Sentence, 11 

Penultimate Member, 11 

Loose Sentence, 12 

Antithetic Member, . 12 

Concessive Member, 13 

Exercises on the preceding Rules, 13 

Interrogation, 15 

Exclamation, , 17 

Parenthesis, 19 

Exercises on the Interrogation, Exclamation, and Parenthesis, 20 

Table of Inflections on the Series, 21 

Simple Commencing Series, 22 

Simple Concluding Series, 23 

Compound Commencing Series, 24 

Compound Concluding Series, 25 

Sentences containing both a Commencing and a Concluding Series, 26 

Pairs of Nouns, 26 

Series of Serieses, 27 

Exercises on the Series, 28 

Harmonic Inflection, 29 

Echo, 31 

The Monotone, 32 

Circumflexes, 32 

Climax,... 33 

ACCENT AND EMPHASIS. 

Transposition of Accent, ;..34 

Emphasis, 35 

Single Emphasis, 37 

Double Emphasis, 39 

Treble Emphasis, 40 

The Antecedent, 41 

General Emphasis, 42 

The Intermediate or Elliptical Member, 42 

Exercises on Emphasis, 43 

RHETORICAL PAUSES. 

Rules for Rhetorical Pauses, 45 

Exercises on Pausing, 51 

SELECT EXTRACTS FOR RECITATION. 

"1. The Uses of Adversity, 52 

2. The Song of Saul before his Last Battle, 52 

3. The Jackdaw, 52 

A 



2 CONTENTS. 

Page 

4. Marcellus's Speech to the Mob, 53 

5. The Burial of Sir John Moore, 54 

6. The Chameleon, 55 

7. Roderick Dhu's Vindication of the Predatory Habits of his Clan, 57 

8. The Street Musician. 58 

9. The Destruction of Sennacherib, 58 

10. An Epistle to Joseph Hill, 59 

1 1. Scene after the Siege of Corinth, 01 

32. Naval Ode, 62 

13. The Town and Country Mouse, G3 

14. Love of Country, 65 

15. Ode to Eloquence, 66 

16. Lochinvar, 68 

17. Lord Ullin's Daughter, 69 

18. A Portion of Gray's Bard, 71 

19. Hotspur's Description of a Fop, 72 

20. Ode on Cecilia's Day, 73 

21. Brutus's Harangue on the Death of Caesar, .75 

22. Marc Antony's Address over the Body of Caesar, 76 

MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

1. Virtue, 79 

2. Work, 80 

3. The Balance of Happiness equal, 81 

4. The Interview of Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia, his Sister Nekayah, 

and Imlac, with the Hermit, 82 

5. Observation, 83 

6. The Hill of Science, 84 

7. Patience recommended, 86 

8. The Planets and Heavenly Bodies, 87 

9. On the Importance of a Classical Education, 89 

10. Westminster Abbey, 92 

11. Suavity of Manner, 94 

12. An Interview between an Old Major and a Young Officer, 96 

13. The Nature of Heat, 97 

14. Remarks on the Swiftness of Time, 98 

15. The Mountain of Miseries, , 100 

16. On Pronunciation, or Delivery, 103 

17. Dryden and Pope compared, 105 

18. On the Love of Nature, 107 

19. The Downfal of Bonaparte, 109 

20. On Sublimity, 110 

21. The Koran, ... 112 

22. The Poor weep unheeded, 113 

23. Sir Roger de Coverley's Visit to the Assizes, 114 

24. The Business and Qualifications of a Poet, 117 

25. Remarks on some of the best Poets, both Ancient and Modern, 119 

26. On the Iliad of Homer, 122 

27. On the Odyssey of Homer, 123 

28. On the Beauties of Virgil, 124 

29. Siege and Conquest of Jerusalem by the Crusaders, 125 

30. The Character of Hamlet, 128 

31. Wit and Humour, 129 

32. Field Sports and Agriculture of the Middle Ages, 132 

33. The Ant-hill— A Lesson to Human Pride,... 134 

34. Invention and Use of Gunpowder, 136 

35. Incentives to Exertion, 137 

36. The World made with a bountiful Design, 140 



CONTENTS. 3 

Page 

37. Fame, a commendable Passion, 140 

38. The Works of Creation, 142 

39. Luxury and Avarice, 144 

40. On Slavery, 146 

41. On Grieving for the Dead, 148 

42. On Remorse, 149 

43. On Human Grandeur, 151 

44. The Effect of Association of Ideas on the Belief of Mankind, 152 

45. The Encounter of Brave and the Panther, ....155 

46. St Paul at Athens, 159 

47. Dramatic Poets, 161 

48. Security, 163 

49. On the Sublime in Writing, 164 

HISTORICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL EXTRACTS. 

1. Our natural Fondness for History, and its true Use, 168 

2. Character of Francis the First and of Charles the Fifth, 169 

3. Character of William the Third, 170 

4. Character of Mr Pitt, 173 

5. Character of Lord Clive, 174 

6. Character of Addison, 176 

7. Character of James Watt, 177 

8. Character of Hannibal, 179 

9. Character of Mary, Queen of Scots, 180 

PATHETIC EXTRACTS. 

1. St Peter's Chapel in the Tower, 182 

2. The Funeral of the Fisherman's Son, from the Antiquary, 183 

3. Maria.— Part I., 186 

4. Maria.— Part II., 187 

SPECIMENS OF PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 

1. The Change produced by Death, 190 

2. Charity, 191 

3. Infidelity, 191 

4. Religious Knowledge a Source of Consolation, 193 

5. Spiritual Blindness, 194 

6. The Works and Attributes of the Almighty, 197 

7. The Injustice of War, 198 

8. Prayer, 200 

9. The State of Man before the Fall, 201 

10: The departed Spirits of the Just are Spectators of our Conduct on 

Earth, 203 

11. Religious Knowledge, 204 

12. The End of the Year, 206 

1.3. The Promises of Religion to the Young, 208 

14. Autumn, 209 

SPECIMENS OF MODERN ELOQUENCE. 

1. The British Monarchy, 212 

2. Peroration to Sheridan's Speech in the Case of Warren Hastings, 212 

3. Extract from Mr Burke's Speech on Conciliation with America, 213 

4. Lord Lyttelton's Speech on the Repeal of the Act called the Jew 

Bill, a.d. 1753, 216 

5. Arbitrary Power not given to Man, 218 

6. Extract from Henry Brougham's Speech at the Liverpool Election, 

1812, 219 



4 CONTENTS. 

Pace 

7. The True Policy of Great Britain 221 

8. Speech of Lord Chatham, in the House of Peers, against the Ameri- 

can War, and against employing the Indians in it, 222 

9. Extract from a Speech of Mr Canning on Parliamentary Reform, 225 

10. Peroration of Mr Grattan's Speech on the Opening of the Irish Par- 

liament, 1790, 227 

11. Peroration of Mr Erskine's Speech on the Age of Reason, 229 

12. Extract from Charles Fox's Charge against Warren Hastings, 231 

SPECIMENS OF ANCIENT ELOQUENCE. 

1. The Value of Literature, 232 

2. The Roman People adjured hy the Example of their Ancestors to 

avenge the Outrages committed by Mithridates, 233 

3. The Achievements of C. Pompey, 234 

4. The Beginning of the First Philippic of Demosthenes, 235 

5. Hannibal to his Soldiers, 238 

6. The Scythian Ambassadors to Alexander, 240 

POETRY. 

Rules for Reading Verse, 243 

On Scanning, 246 

EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 

1. The Month of March, 247 

2. The Cuckoo, 247 

3. Thou art, God,.... 248 

4. Horatius offering to defend the Bridge, 249 

5. Sketch of Chatham, 250 

6. Sketches of Burke and Garrick, 251 

7. Slavery, 252 

8. Confidence in God, 252 

9. To the Skylark, 254 

10. Hope, the Friend of the Brave, ...255 

11. The Moral Change anticipated by Hope, 256 

12. On the Downfal of Poland, 257 

13. The Immortality of the Soul, 258 

14. Affliction, 260 

15. Jerusalem, 261 

16. Compensation, 261 

17. Vanity of Human Wishes, 262 

18. The Death of Marmion, 263 

19. Hymn of the Hebrew Maid, 264 

20. On the Arrival of the British Army in Portugal to assist the Natives 

in expelling the French, 265 

21. From the Bride of Abydos, 266 

22. On Ancient Greece, 267 

23. Love, 268 

24. Alexander the Great. From the Tenth Book of Lucan's Pharsalia,..268 

25. The Battle of Hohenlinden, '. 269 

26. Table Talk, 270 

27. Ode to the Departing Year, 272 

28. The Nymph lamenting the Death of her Fawn, 274 

29. Suing for Court Favour, 275 

30. Old Age and Death, 276 

31. The Benedicite Paraphrased, 276 

32. Conversation, , 277 

33. The Two Owls and the Sparrow, 279 

34. Courage in Poverty, 280 



CONTENTS. 5 

Page 

35. Prologue to Cato; 1713, 280 

36. Character of Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, 281 

37. Character of Shaftesbury, 282 

38. The Art of Criticism, 283 

39. Harmony of Expression, 284 

40. On Man, 285 

41. Universal Order, 287 

42. Conclusion of the Dunciad, 288 

43. Vice and Virtue, 288 

44. The Treasures of the Deep, 289 

45. Address to the Nightingale, 290 

46. From the Spirit's Epilogue in Comus, 292 

47. Excelsior, 292 

48. Freedom, 293 

49. The Village Preacher, 294 

50. The beautiful, but still and melancholy Aspect of the once busy and 

glorious Shores of Greece, 296 

51. From the Traveller, 297 

52. To the Memory of my beloved Master, William Shakspeare, and what 

he hath left us, 298 

53. A Ship Sinking, 299 

54. Solitude, 300 

55. Happiness the Eeward of Virtue, 301 

56. Ode on the Fate of Tyranny, 302 

57. Grongar Hill, 304 

58. Worth makes the Man, 308 

59. On the Plain of Marathon, 308 

60. The Siege of Corinth, 310 

61. Christian and his Comrades at Otaheite, 311 

62. Sonnet. — The World is too much with us, 313 

63. Sonnet composed upon Westminster Bridge, 313 

34. Hymn to Adversity, 314 

BLANK VERSE. 

1. Retirement, 315 

2. From Milton's Comus, 316 

3. On Slavery, 317 

4. Despondency rebuked by Fame, 318 

5. Address to Evening, 319 

6. Description of Evening, 319 

7. Perseverance,... 320 

8. Forest Scenery, 321 

9. The Good Preacher and the Clerical Coxcomb, 321 

10. Cardinal Wolsey's Speech to Cromwell, 322 

11. Human Life, 323 

12. Flattery unworthy of a Poet, 324 

13. Description of Adam and Eve, 325 

14. Satan's Remorse, 325 

15. Autumn Evening Scene, 327 

16. On Death, 328 

17. Apostrophe to Night, 329 

18. Hymn on the Seasons, 330 

DIALOGUES. 

1. Lochiel's Warning, 333 

2. Hotspur and Sir Richard Vernon, from the First Part of Henry the 

Fourth, 335 



b CONTENTS. 

Page 

3. From the Play of As you Like It, 336 

4. Coriolanus and Aufidius, 340 

5. Master Matthew and Bobadil, 342 

6. Palemon and Arcite, Captives in Greece, 346 

7. The Quarrel of Brutus and Cassius, 348 

8. Marino Faliero and Angiolina, 352 

9. Hesperus and Floribel, from the Bride's Tragedy, 355 

10. Hector and Andromache, 356 

11. Cato's Senate, 357 

SPEECHES. 

1. Speech of Henry V. to his Soldiers at the Siege of Harfleur, 360 

2. Zanga's Reasons for hating Alonzo, 361 

3. Falconbridge to King John, 361 

4. Marino Faliero to the Conspirators, 362 

5. Henry V.'s Speech at Agincourt, 364 

6. Richard II. to Sir Stephen Scroop on receiving the News of the 

Revolt of his Subjects, 365 

7. How Douglas learned the Art of War, 366 

8. Othello's Apology, 367 

9. Cassius against Caesar, ;....368 

10. Address of Ion, 370 

11. The Duke Aranza to Juliana, from the Honey-Moon, 371 

12. Speech of Prince Edward in his Dungeon, 372 

13. Oration in Praise of Coriolanus, 372 

14. Eve's Address to Adam after dreaming that she had tasted of the 

Tree of Knowledge, 373 

15. The Passions, an Ode, 374 

16. Alexander's Feast, or the Power of Music : Ode for St Cecilia's Day.. 377 

17. Speech of Rolla, 380 

18. Virginius appealing to his Fellow-Citizens to rescue his Daughter 

from the Hands of Appius, 381 

19. Clarence's Dream, 382 

20. Hamlet's Advice to the Players, 384 

SOLILOQUIES. 

1. Henry the Fourth's Soliloquy on Sleep, 385 

2. Lady Randolph's Soliloquy, 385 

3. Cato's Soliloquy on the Immortality of the Soul, 386 

4. Hamlet's Soliloquy on Death, 387 

5. Samson Agonistes, 388 

COMIC EXTRACTS. 

1. Conclusion of Phil. Fudge's Letter to his Brother, Tim. Fudge, Esq. 

Barrister-at-Law, 390 

2. Contest between the Nose and Eyes, 392 

3. The Monkey, 393 

4. Lodgings for Single Gentlemen, 394 

5. The Well of St Keyne, 395 

6. The Newcastle Apothecary, 397 

7. Justice and the Oyster, 399 

THE PASSIONS, 400-412 






Different Methods by which the Principles and Lessons 
may be successfully taught. 



Before attempting to read the examples on inflections, a thorough 
knowledge of the two slides, or inflections of voice, {page 17), must be 
obtained. Without a very accurate knowledge of these two slides of the 
voice, no graceful progress in reading can possibly be made. 

The Table of inflections contains thirty lines. After being able to 
exemplify the slides in the first column, proceed to acquire a like know- 
ledge of the second. This being done, endeavour to read the table 
backwards ; that is, read the 16th line, and then the 1st ; the 17th, and 
then the 2d ; the 18ch, and then the 3d, &c. ; in the last place, read the 
table across ; that is, read the 1st line and then the 16th ; the 2d, and 
then the 17th ; the 3d, and then the 18th, &c. 

Under the heads of Inflections, Accent, Emphasis, and Pauses, the 
Rules are printed in italics: these, it is understood, will be either atten- 
tively studied, or committed to memory by the Pupil, according to cir- 
cumstances. A single rule may be given out each day as an exercise ; 
the examples under which being read the day following. 

The notes and examples under them may be read by the Student im- 
mediately after the rules to which they belong ; but, by those less ad- 
vanced, they may be entirely passed over, and not read till a perfect 
knowledge has been attained of what is of more importance. 

In reading the Lessons, the principles should be gradually reduced to 
practice. Words that require the rising inflection, may, by the Pupil, 
be marked with a pencil with the acute accent ; and such as require the 
falling inflection, with the grave accent. Emphatical words may be 
marked by drawing a straight line over them ; and where a rhetorical 
pause is admissible, a mark, such as a comma, may be inserted after the 
word. 

If this process should be thought too tedious, the Pupil may be re- 
quested to mark (while the Teacher is reading the Lesson) only the prin- 
cipal inflections : it being always understood, however, that the Pupil 
has acquired a knowledge of the different slides, and degrees of force of 
the voice. 

The following Rule, to which, though there are many exceptions, may 
perhaps be of some advantage ; the knowledge of it, at least, is easily 
acquired. 

The falling inflection almost always takes place at a period, very often 
at a colon, and frequently at a semicolon ; at the comma immediately 
preceding either of these points, the rising inflection commonly takes 
place. When this rule does not hold good, the Teacher can easily point 
out the exceptions to it. 

It must be carefully observed, that every falling, or every rising in- 
flection, does not necessarily terminate upon the same key, or on the 
same note of that key ; neither is every emphatic word pronounced with 
the same degree of force : for, as various as inflections and emphases are 
in number, almost as varied should be the manner of pronouncing them 



IS GENERAL RULES, &c 

In these, however, and in many other circumstances, whereon the beauty 
of reading and speaking chiefly depends, the import of the subject, the 
nature of the audience, and the place the speaker occupies, must all be 
judiciously considered, in order properly to regulate his pronunciation 
and delivery. 



General Rules and Observations on Reading and Recitation 



1. Give the letters their proper sounds. 

2. Pronounce the vowels a, e, i, o, w, clearly, giving to each its proper 

quantity. 

3. The liquids /, m, ra, should be pronounced with a considerable degree 

of force. 

4. Distinguish every accented letter or syllable by a peculiar stress of the 

voice. 

5. Read audibly and distinctly, with a degree of deliberation suited to the 

subject. 

6. Pause at the points a sufficient length of time ; but not so long as to 

break that connexion which one part of a sentence has with another. 

7. The meaning of a sentence is often considerably elucidated by pausing 

where none of the usual marks could properly be inserted. 

8. Give every sentence, and member of a sentence, that inflection of voice, 

which tends to improve either the sound or the sense. 

9. Monotones, judiciously introduced, have a wonderful effect in diversi- 

fying delivery. 

10. Every emphatical word must be marked with a force corresponding 

with the importance of the subject. 

11. At the beginning of a subject or discourse, the pitch of the voice 

should, in general, be low : — to this rule, however, there are some 
exceptions in poetry, and even in prose. 

12. As the speaker proceeds, the tones of his voice should swell, and his 

animation increase with the increasing importance of his subject. 

13. At the commencement of a new paragraph, division, or subdivision of 

a discourse, the voice may be lowered, and again allowed gradually 
to swell. 

14. The tones of the voice must, in every instance, be regulated entirely 

by the nature of the subject. 

15. In recitation, the speaker must adopt those tones, looks, and ges- 

tures, which are most agreeable to the nature of whatever he de- 
livers : — he must " suit the action to the word, and the word to 
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10 PRINCIPLES OP ELOCUTION. 



On the Inflections of the Voice. 

Besides the pauses, which indicate a greater or less separation of the 
parts of a sentence and a conclusion of the whole, there are certain inflec- 
tions of voice, accompanying these pauses, which are as necessary to the 
sense of the sentence as the pauses themselves ; for, however exactly we 
may pause between those parts which are separable, if we do not pause 
with such an inflection of the voice as is suited to the sense, the composi- 
tion we read will not only want its true meaning, but will have a meaning 
very different from that intended by the writer. 

Whether words are pronounced in a high or low, in a loud or soft tone ; 
whether they are pronounced swiftly or slowly, forcibly or feebly, with 
the tone of passion or without it ; they must necessarily be pronounced 
either sliding upwards or downwards, or else go into a monotone or 
song. 

By the rising or falling inflection, is not meant the pitch of the voice 
in which the whole word is pronounced, or that loudness or softness 
which may accompany any pitch ; but that upward or downward slide 
which the voice makes when the pronunciation of a word is finishing, 
and which may, therefore, not improperly be called the rising and falling 
inflection. 

We must carefully guard against mistaking the low tone at the begin- 
ning of the rising inflection for the falling inflection, and the high tone 
at the beginning of the falling inflection for the rising inflection, as they 
are not denominated rising or falling from the high or low tone in which 
they are pronounced, but from the upward or downward slide in which 
they terminate, whether pronounced in a high or low key. 



THE FINAL PAUSE OR PERIOD. 
Rule I. — The falling inflection takes place at a period. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. That man is little to be envied whose patriotism would 
not gain force upon the plain of Marathon, or whose piety- 
would not grow warmer among the ruins of Iona\ 

2. The pleasures of the imagination, the pleasure arising 
from science, from the line arts, and from the principle of 
curiosity, are peculiar to the human' species. 

When a sentence concludes an antithesis, the first branch of which 
being emphatic, requires the falling inflection ; the second branch requires 
the weak emphasis, and rising inflection. 



Note. When there is a succession of periods or loose members in a 

sentence, though they may all have the falling inflection, yet every one 
of them ought to be pronounced in a somewhat different pitch of the voice 
from the other. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 11 

EXAMPLES. 

1. If we have no regard for our own v character, we ought to have some 
regard for the character of others'. 

2. If content cannot remove* the disquietudes of mankind, it will at least 
alleviate' them. 



NEGATIVE SENTENCE. 

Rule II. — Negative sentences, or members of sentences, must 
end with the rising inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. The region beyond the grave is not a solitary 7 land. 
There your fathers are, and thither every other friend shall 
follow you in due season. 

2. True charity is not a meteor, which occasionally' glares ; 
but a luminary, which, in its orderly and regular course, dis- 
penses a benignant influence. 



PENULTIMATE MEMBER.* 

Rule III. — The penultimate member of a sentence requires 
the rising infection. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. We were now treading that illustrious island, which was 
once the luminary of the Caledonian regions, whence savage 
clans and roving barbarians derived the benefits of knowledge', 
and the blessings of religion. 

2. Mahomet was a native of Mecca, a city of that division of 
Arabia, which, for the luxury of its soil and happy temperature 
of its climate, has ever been esteemed the loveliest and sweetest' 
region in the world, and distinguished by the epithet of Happv. 



Penultimate signifies the last but one. 



12 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

LOOSE SENTENCE.* 
IIule IV. — The member that forms perfect sense must be 
separated from those that follow by a long pause and the 
falling infection. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. Through faith we understand that the worlds were fram- 
ed by the word of God v ; so that things which are seen were 
not made of things that do appear. 

2. By faith Abraham, when he was called to go out into a 
place which he should after receive for an inheritance, obey- 
ed N ; and he went out, not knowing whither he went. 

Note — When a sentence consists of several loose members which nei- 
ther modify nor are modified by one another, they may be considered as 
a compound series, and pronounced accordingly. 



ANTITHETIC MEMBER.t 

Rule V. — Thefrst member of an antithesis must end with 

the long pause and the rising infection. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. The most frightful disorders arose from the state of feu- 
dal anarchy. Force decided all things. Europe was one 
great field of battle, where the weak struggled for freedom', 
and the strong for dominion. The king was without power', 
and the nobles without principle. They were tyrants at home', 
and robbers abroad. Nothing remained to be a check upon 
ferocity and violence. 

2. Between fame and true honour a distinction is to be made. 
The former is a blind and noisy' applause : the latter a more 
silent and internal homage. Fame floats on the breath of the 
multitude' : honour rests on the judgment of the thinking. 
Fame may give praise, while it withholds esteem' : true honour 
implies esteem, mingled with respect. The one regards parti- 
cular distinguished' talents : the other looks up to the whole 
character. 

3. These two qualities, delicacy and correctness, mutually 
imply each other. No taste can be exquisitely delicate without 
being correct; nor can be thoroughly correct without being deli- 



* A loose sentence is a member containing perfect sense by itself, fol- 
lowed by some other member or members, which do not restrain or qua. 
lify its signification. 

+ Antithesis opposes words to words, and thoughts to thoughts. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 13 

cate. But still a predominancy of one or other quality in the 
mixture is often visible. The power of delicacy is chiefly seen 
in discerning the true 7 merit of a work ; the power of correct- 
ness, in rejecting false pretensions to merit. Delicacy leans 
more to feeling' ; correctness more to reason and judgment. 
The former is more the gift of nature' ; the latter, more the 
product of culture and art. Among the ancient critics, Lon- 
ginus possessed most delicacy' ; Aristotle, most correctness. 
Among the moderns, Mr Addison is a high example of deli- 
cate' taste j Dean Swift, had he written on the subject of criti- 
cism, would perhaps have afforded the example of a correct one. 



CONCESSIVE MEMBER. 

Rule VI.— At the end of a concession the rising inflection 
takes place. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. Reason, eloquence, and every art which ever has been 
studied among mankind, may be abused, and may prove dan- 
gerous in the hands of bad' men ; but it were perfectly childish 
to contend, that, upon this account, they ought to be abolished. 

2. One may be a speaker, both of much reputation and 
much influence, in the calm argumentative' manner. To at- 
tain the pathetic, and the sublime of oratory, requires those 
strong sensibilities of mind, and that high power of expression, 
which are given to few. 

3. To Bourdaloue, the French critics attribute more solidity 
and close reasoning ; to Massillon, a more pleasing and enga- 
ging manner. Bourdaloue is indeed a great reasoner, and in- 
culcates his doctrines with much zeal, piety, and earnest- 
ness' ; but his style is verbose, he is disagreeably full of quo- 
tations from the Fathers, and he wants imagination. 



Exercises on the preceding Rules. 

1 . By deferring our repentance, we accumulate our sorrows. 

2. Human affairs are in continual motion and fluctuation, altering their 
appearance every moment, and passing into some new forms. 

3. As you value the approbation of Heaven, or the esteem of the world, 
cultivate the love of truth ; in all your proceedings be direct and con- 
sistent. 

4. By a multiplicity of words, the sentiments are not set off and accommo- 
dated ; but, like David equipped in Saul's armour, they are encumbered 
and oppressed. 



14 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

5. Though it may be true, that every individual, in his own breast, na- 
turally prefers himself to all mankind, yet he dares not look mankind iu 
the face, and avow that he acts according to this principle. 

G. If our language, by reason of the simple arrangement of its words, 
possesses less harmony, less beauty, and less force, than the Greek or La- 
tin ; it is, however, in its meaning, more obvious and plain. 

7. Whether we consider poetry in particular, and discourse in general, 
as imitative or descriptive ; it is evident, that their whole power in recall- 
ing the impressions of real objects, is derived from the significancy of 
words. 

8. Were there no bad men in the world, to vex and distress the good, 
the good might appear in the light of harmless innocence ; but they could 
have no opportunity of displaying fidelity, magnanimity, patience, and 
fortitude. 

9. It is not by starts of application, or by a few years' preparation of 
study afterwards discontinued, that eminence can be attained. No ; it 
can be attained only by means of regular industry, grown up into a habit, 
and ready to be exerted on every occasion that calls for industry. 

10. We blame the excessive fondness and anxiety of a parent, as some- 
thing which may, in the end, prove hurtful to the child, and which, in the 
meau time, is excessively inconvenient to the parent ; but we easily pardon 
it, and never regard it with hatred and detestation. 

11. The character of Demosthenes is vigour and austerity ; that of 
Cicero is gentleness and insinuation. In the one, you find more manli- 
ness ; in the other, more ornament. The one is more harsh, but more 
spirited and cogent ; the other, more agreeable, but withal, looser and 
weaker. 

12. Homer was the greater genius ; Virgil the better artist : in the one, 
we most admire the man ; in the other, the work. Homer hurries us with 
a commanding impetuosity ; Virgil leads us with an attractive majesty. 
Homer scatters with a generous profusion ; Virgil bestows with a careful 
magnificence. Homer, like the Nile, pours out his riches with a sudden 
overflow ; Virgil, like a river in its banks, with a constant stream. — And 
when we look upon their machines, Homer seems, like his own Jupiter in 
his terrors, shaking Olympus, scattering the lightnings, and firing the 
heavens ; Virgil, like the same power in his benevolence, counselling with 
the gods, laying plans for empires, and ordering his whole creation. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. lo 



INTERROGATION.* 

Rule I. — Questions asked by pronouns or adverbs, end with 
the falling inflection. 

EXAMPLES, 

1. Who continually supports and governs this stupendous 
system^? Who preserves ten thousand times ten thousand 
worlds in perpetual harmony N ? Who enables them always to 
observe such time, and obey such laws, as are most exquisitely 
adapted for the perfection of the wondrous whole' ? They can- 
not preserve and direct themselves ; for they were created, and 
must, therefore, be dependent. How, then, can they be so 
actuated and directed, but by the unceasing energy of the 
Great Supreme' ? 

2. Ah ! why will kings forget that they are men, 
And men that they are brethren' ? Why delight 
In human' sacrifice ? Why burst the ties 

Of Nature, that should knit their souls together 
In one soft bond of amity and love' ? 

Note 1 — Interrogative sentences, consisting of members in a series 
necessarily depending on each other for sense, must be pronounced ac- 
cording to the rule which relates to the series of which they are composed. 

EXAMPLE. 

What can be more important and interesting than an inquiry into the 
existence^, attributes', providence', and moral government of God ? 



Rule II. — Questions asked by verbs require the rising 
inflection.^ 

examples. 
1. Can the soldier, when he girdeth on his armour, boast 
like him that putteth it off' ? Can the merchant predict that 
the speculation, on which he has entered, will be infallibly 
crowned with success' ? Can even the husbandman, who has 
the promise of God that seed-time and harvest shall not fail, 
look forward with assured confidence to the expected increase 
of his fields' ? In these and in all similar cases, our resolution 
to act can be founded on probability alone. 

* When the last words, in this species of interrogation, happen to be 
emphatical, they must be pronounced with a considerable degree of force 
and loudness. 

•J- When the question is very long, however, or concludes a paragraph, 
the falling instead of the rising inflection takes place. 



16 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

2. Avarus has long been ardently endeavouring to fill his 
chest : and lo ! it is now full. Is he happy' ? Does he use' 
it ? Does he gratefully think of the Giver' of all good things ? 
Does he distribute to the poor 7 ? Alas ! these interests have 
no place in his breast. 

3. Yet say, should tyrants learn at last to feel, 
And the loud din of battle cease to bray : 

Would death be foiled'? Would health, and strength, and youth' 

Defy his power ? Has he no arts in store, 

No other shafts save those of war' ? Alas ! 

Even in the smile of peace, that smile which sheds 

A heavenly sunshine o'er the soul, there basks 

That serpent Luxury. 



Rule III. — When interrogative sentences connected by the 
disjunctive or, expressed or understood, succeed each other, 
the first end with the rising and the rest with the falling 
inflection. In other words, when or is conjunctive, it has 
the rising, when disjunctive the falling inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. Does God, after having made his creatures, take no fur- 
ther' care of them ? Has he left them to blind fate or undirect- 
ed chance' ? Has he forsaken the works of his own hands' ? Or 
does he always graciously preserve, and keep, and guide' them ? 

2. Should these credulous infidels after all be in the right, 
and this pretended revelation be all a fable, from believing it 
what harm' could ensue ? Would it render princes more ty- 
rannical, or subjects more ungovernable' ? the rich more inso- 
lent, or the poor more disorderly' ? Would it make worse pa- 
rents, or children' ; husbands, or wives' ; masters, or servants' ; 
friends, or neighbours' ? or would it not make men more vir- 
tuous, and, consequently, more happy N in every situation ? 

3. Shall we in your person crown' the author of the public 
calamities, or shall we destroy 1 * him ? 

Note 2 — An interrogative sentence, consisting of a variety of members 
depending on each other for sense, may have the inflection common to 
other sentences, provided the last member has that inflection which dis- 
tinguishes the species of interrogation to which it belongs. 

EXAMPLE. 

Can we believe a thinking being, that is in a perpetual progress of 
improvement*, and travelling on from perfection to perfection, after 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 17 

having just looked abroad into the works of its Creator*, and made a few 
discoveries of his infinite goodness, wisdom, and power, must perish at 
her first setting out*, and in the very beginning' of her inquiries ? 



Note 3 — Interrogative sentences, consisting of members in a series, 
which form perfect sense as they proceed, must have every member ter- 
minate with that inflection which distinguishes the species of interrogation 
of which they consist. 

EXAJirLES. 

1. Hath death torn from your embrace the friend whom you tenderly 
loved' — him to whom you were wont to unbosom the secrets of your soul' 
— him who was your counsellor in perplexity, the sweetener of all your joys, 
and the assuager of all your sorrows' ? You think you do well to mourn ; 
and the tears with which you water his grave, seem to be a tribute due to 
his virtues. But waste not your affection in fruitless lamentation. 

2. Who are the persons that are most apt to fall into peevishness and 
dejection* — that are continually complaining of the world, and see nothing 
but wretchedness* around them ? Are they those whom want compels to 
toil for their daily bread' — who have no treasure but the labour of their 
hands' — who rise with the rising sun to expose themselves to all the ri- 
gours of the seasons, unsheltered from the winter's cold, and unshaded 
from the summer's heat' ? No, The labours of such are the very bless- 
ings of their condition. 

Note 4. — When questions, asked by verbs, are followed by answers, 
the rising inflection, in a high tone of voice, takes place at the end of the 
question, and, after a long pause, the answer must be pronounced in a 
lower tone. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. Are you desirous that your talents and abilities may procure you re- 
spect' ? Display them not ostentatiously to public view. Would you es- 
cape the envy which your riches' might excite ? Let them not minister to 
pride, but adorn them with humility. 

2. There is not an evil incident to human nature for which the gospel 
doth not provide a remedy. Are you ignorant of many things which it 
highly concerns you to know' ? The gospel offers you instruction. Have 
you deviated from the path of duty' ? The gospel offers you forgiveness. 
Do temptations' surround you ? The gospel offers you the aid of Heaven. 
Are you exposed to misery' ? It consoles you. Are you subject to death'? 
It offers you immortality. 



EXCLAMATION. 

Rule IV. — The inflections at the note of exclamation are 
the same as at any other point, in sentences similarly con- 
structed. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. The Almighty sustains and conducts the universe. It 
was He who separated the jarring elements'' ! It was He who 



18 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

hung up the worlds in empty space v ! It is He who preserves 
them in their circles, and impels them in their course^ ! 

2. How pure, how dignified should they be, whose origin 
is celestiaP ! How pure, how dignified should they be, who 
are taught to look higher than earth ; to expect to enjoy the 
divinest pleasures for evermore, and to c shine forth as the sun 
in the kingdom of their Father v !' 

3. Behold the reverential awe with which the words and the 
opinions of the upright and conscientious are heard and re- 
ceived'' ! See the wise courting their friendship ; the poor ap- 
plying for their aid ; the friendless and forlorn seeking their 
advice, and the widow and the fatherless craving their pro- 
tection N ! 



Rule V. — When the exclamation, inform of a question, is the 
echo of another question of the same hind, or when it pro- 
ceeds from wonder or admiration, it always requires the 
rising infection. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. Will you for ever, Athenians, do nothing but walk up and 
down the city, asking one another, What news' ? What news' i 
Is there any thing more new than to see a man of Macedonia 
become master of the Athenians, and give laws to all Greece' ? 

2. What' ! might Rome then have been taken, if those men 
who were at your gates had not wanted courage' for the at- 
tempt ? — Rome taken when I' was consul ! — Of honours I had 
sufficient — of life enough — more than enough. 

3. Whither shall I turn N ? Wretch that I am' ! to what 
place shall I betake N myself ? Shall I go to the capitol' ? alas ! 
it is overflowed with my brother's blood N ! or shall I retire to 
my house^ ? yet there I behold my mother plunged in misery, 
weeping and despairing\ 

4. Plant of celestial seed, if dropped below, 
Say in what mortal soil thou deignest to grow : 
Fair opening to some court's propitious shine, 
Or deep with diamonds in the flaming mine ? 
Twined with the wreaths Parnassian laurels yield, 
Or reaped in iron harvests of the field ? 
Where grows' ! where grows it not N ? if vain our toil. 
We ought to blame the culture, not the soil. 



PRINCIPLES OP ELOCUTION. 19 



PARENTHESIS. 

Rule VI. — A parenthesis must be pronounced in a lower 
tone of voice than the rest of the sentence, and conclude 
with the same pause and inflection which terminate the 
member that immediately precedes it* 

EXAMPLES. 

1. Though Fame, who is always the herald of the great, 
lias seldom deigned to transmit the exploits of the lower ranks 
to posterity', (for it is commonly the fate of those whom for- 
tune has placed in the vale of obscurity to have their noble 
actions buried in oblivion';) yet, in their verses, the minstrels 
have preserved many instances of domestic wo and felicity. 

2. Uprightness is a habit, and, like all other habits, gains 
strength by time and exercise. If, then, we exercise' upright 
principles, (and we cannot have them unless we exercise' them,) 
they must be perpetually on the increase. 

3. Sir Andrew Freeport's notions of trade are noble and 
generous', and (as every rich man has usually some sly way 
of jesting, which would make no great figure were he not' a 
great man,) he calls the sea the British Common. 

Note 1 — The end of a parenthesis must have the falling inflection, when 
it terminates with an emphatical word. 

EXAMPLE. 

Had I, when speaking in the assembly, been absolute and independent 
master of affairs, then your other speakers might call me to account. But 
if ye were ever present, if ye were all in general invited to propose your 
sentiments, if ye were all agreed that the measures then suggested were 
really the best; if you, iEschines, in particular, were thus persuaded, (and 
it was no partial affection for me, that prompted you to give me up the 
hopes, the applause, the honours, which attended that course I then 
advised, but the superior force of truth, and your utter inability to point 
out any more eligible* course ;) if this was the case, 1 say, is it not highly 
cruel and unjust to arraign those measures now, when you could not then 
propose any better ? 



Note 2. — When the parenthesis is long it may be pronounced with a 
degree of monotone or sameness of voice, in order to distinguish it from the 
rest of the sentence. 



* A parenthesis must also be pronounced a degree (juicker than the rest 
of the sentence ; a pause too must be made both before and after it, pro- 
portioned in length to the more intimate or remote connexion which it has 
with the rest of the sentence. 



20 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 



EXAMPLE. 

Since then every sort of good which is immediately of importance to 
happiness, must he perceived by some immediate power or sense, ante- 
cedent to any opinions or reasoning 7 (for it is the business of reason to com- 
pare the several sorts of good perceived by the several senses, and to find 
out the proper means for obtaining 7 them), we must therefore carefully in- 
quire into the several sublimer perceptive powers or senses ; since it is by 
them we best discover what state or course of life best answers the intention 
of God and nature, and wherein true happiness consists. 



Note 3. — The small intervening members, said J, saps he, continued 
they, &c. follow the inflection and tone of the member which precedes them, 
in a higher and feebler tone of voice. 



EXAMPLE. 



Thus, then, said he, since you are so urgent, it is thus that I conceive 
it. The sovereign good is that, the possession of which renders us happy. 
And how, said 1, do we possess it ? Is it sensual or intellectual ? There, 
you are entering, said he, upon the detail. 



Exercises on the Interrogation, Exclamation, and 
Parenthesis. 

1. Would you do your homage the most agreeable way ? Would you 
render the most acceptable of services ? offer unto God thanksgiving. 

2. What shadow can be more vain than the life of a great part of man- 
kind ? Of all that eager and bustling crowd we behold on earth, how few 
discover the path of true happiness ? How few can we find, whose acti- 
vity has not been misemployed, and whose course terminates not in con- 
fessions of disappointments ? 

3. What are the scenes of nature that elevate the mind in the highest 
degree, and produce the sublime sensation ? Not the gay landscape, the 
flowery field, or the flourishing city ; but the hoary mountain, and the 
solitary lake ; the aged forest, and the torrent falling over the rock. 

4. Is there any one who will seriously maintain, that the taste of a 
Hottentot or a Laplander is as delicate and as correct as that of a Longi- 
nus or an Addison ? or, that he can be charged with no defect or inca- 
pacity, who thinks a common news-writer as excellent an historian as 
Tacitus ? 

5. That strong hyperbolical manner which we have long been accus- 
tomed to call the Oriental manner of poetry (because some of the earliest 
poetical productions came to us from the East) is in truth no more Orien- 
tal than Occidental ; it is characteristical of an age rather than of a coun- 
try ; and belongs, in some measure, to all nations at that period which 
first gives rise to music and to song. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION- 21 

6. The bliss of man (could pride that blessing find,) 
Is not to act or think beyond mankind. 

7. Where thy true treasure ? Gold says, " not in me ;" 
And, " not in me," the diamond. Gold is poor. 

B. All this dread order break — for whom ? for thee ? 
Vile worm ! — O madness ! pride ! impiety ! 

ii. O the dark days of vanity ! while here, 

How tasteless ! and how terrible, when gone ! 

Gone ? they ne'er go : when past, they haunt us still. 

10. Whatever is, is right. This world, 'tis true. 
Was made for Caesar, — but for Titus too. 
And which more blest ? who chained his country, say, 
Or he whose virtue sighed to lose a day ? 



SERIES. 

The word series is here used to denote an enumeration of 
particulars. 

A Commencing series is that which begins a sentence, but 
does not end it. 

A Concluding series is that which ends a sentence, whether 
it begins it or not. 

The series, whose members consist of single words, is called 
a simple series. 

The series, whose members consist of two or more words, is 
called a compound series. 



INFLECTIONS ON THE SIMPLE SERIES. 



COMMENCING. 

N* of Members. 

3 — ZZ — ZZr 2 x 3 r 



~i 



1'2 N 3 X 4' 
1'2 X 3 X 4 X 5' 
.l / 2 / 3 x 4 % 5 x 6 / 
.1'2'3'4 X 5 N 6 N 7' 
l x 2 , 3 / 4 / 5 x 6 x 7 x 8 / 
2 N 3'4'5'6 V 7 V 8 V 9' 



10~1 X 2 X 3 N 4'5'6'7 > 8 % 9M0' 



CONCLUDING. 

N°- of Members. 

2 



3 
4. 
5. 
6 

1* 

8 
9 

10. 



r 

— W 

rs'3' 

.P2 X 3'4' 

r 2 1 3 X 4' 5' 

1'2 V 3 X 4 X 5'6' 

-~I'2'3 V 4 X 5 X 6'7' 
1'2'3'4 X 5 X 6 V 7'8' 



V2 y 
2'3^ 
3'4 % 
4'5^ 

&r 

7'8 X 
8'9 X 
9' 10' 



22 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 



COMPOUND SERIES. 



COMMENCING. 

N°- of Members. 

2 



3. 
4- 
5 
6 

7 

8™ 
9 

io~~r 



P2' 

- 1'2'3' 

1'2'3'4' 

1'2'3'4'5' 

™ l'2'3'4'5'6'i| 

— I' 2' 3' 4' 5' 6' 7' 

1'2'3'4'5'6'7 N 8' 

~1'2'3'4'5'6'7 V 8'9' 
2'3'4'5'6'7 V 8'9'10 / 



CONCLUDING. 

N°- of Members. 

3 H 



1'2' 

1'2'3* 

4 ] ' 2' 3' 4' 

5 1' 2' 3' 4' 5' 

6 1' 2' 3' 4' 5' 6" 

7 r 2' 3' 4' 5' 6' 7 1 

8 — r 2' 3' 4' 5' 6' 7 8 V 

9 r 2 V 3' 4' 5' 6' 7^ 8' 9' 

10_1 X 2^3 X 4 V 5 , 6 V 7 X 8 , 9 , 10 V 



SIMPLE COMMENCING SERIES 
Op 2 Members. — Rule. V, 2'.* — Dependence' and obe- 
dience' belong to youth. 

3 Members.? — Rule. V, 2\ 3'. — The young", the healthy' 
and the prosperous', should not presume on their advantages. J 

4 Members. — Rule. 1', 2', 3', 4'. — Humanity', justice', 
generosity', and public spirit', are the qualities most useful to 
others. 

5 Members. — Rule. V, 2', 3', 4', 5' — The presence', 
knowledge', power', wisdom', and goodness' of God, must all 
be unbounded. 

6 Members. — Rule. 1', 2', 3', 4', 5', 6'. — Desire', aver- 
sion', rage', love', hope', and fear', are drawn in miniature upon 
the stage. 

7 Members. — Rule. 1', 2', 3', 4', 5', 6', 7'- — Sophocles', 
Euripides', Pindar', Thucydides', Demosthenes', Phidias', 
Apelles', were the contemporaries of Socrates or of Plato. 

8 Members.— Rule. 1', 2', 3', 4[, 5', 6', T, 8'.— Wine', 
beauty', music', pomp', study', diversion', business', wisdom', 
are but poor expedients to heave off the insupportable load of 
an hour from the heart of man ; the load of an hour from the 
heir of an eternitv. 



* That is — the falling inflection takes place on the first member, and 
the rising on the second. 

•f- In a simple commencing series of three members, the first must be 
pronounced in a somewhat lower tone than the second. 

£ The noun, when attended by the article, or conjunction, is considered 
in the series as a single word. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 23 

9 Members.— Rule. V, 2\ 3', 4', 5', 6\ 7, 8*, 9'.— Joy*, 
grief, fear', anger', pity', scorn*, hate', jealousy', and love', 
stamp assumed distinctions on the player. 

JO Members.— Rule. l\ 2\3\ 4', 5', 6', T, 8', 9', 10'. 
Next then, you authors, be not you severe ; 
Why, what a swarm of scribblers have we here ! 
One x , two*, three*, four', five', six', seven*, eight*, nine', ten', 
All in one row, and brothers of the pen. 



SIMPLE CONCLUDING SERIES 
Op 2 Members.— Rule. 1', 2*. — The spirit of true reli- 
gion breathes gentleness' and affability'. 

3 Members. — Rule. 1', 2', 3*. — Industry is the law of our 
being ; it is the demand of nature', of reason', and of God*.* 

4 Members. — Rule. I*, 2', 3', 4*. — Fear not, ye righteous, 
amidst the distresses of life. You have an Almighty Friend 
continually at hand to pity*, to support', to defend', and to re- 
lieve* you. 

5 Members. — Rule. 1*, 2', 3', 4', 5*. — The characteris- 
tics of chivalry were, valour*, humanity', courtesy', justice', 
and honour'. 

6 Members. — Rule. 1*, 2', 3', 4', 5', 6'. — Mankind are 
besieged by war', famine', pestilence', volcano', storm', and fire'. 

7 Members. — Rule. 1', 2', 3', 4', 5', 6', T- — They passed 
over many a frozen, many a fiery Alp ; rocks', caves', lakes', 
fens', bogs', dens', and shades of death'. 

8 Members.— Rule. 1', 2', 3 X , 4', 5', 6', 7, 8'.— The 
speaker, having gained the attention and judgment of his au- 
dience, must proceed to complete his conquest over the pas- 
sions ; such as admiration', surprise', hope', joy', love', fear', 
grief, anger'. 

9 Members— Rule. 1', 2', 3', 4', 5', 6', 7, 8', 9'.— The 
fruit of the Spirit is love', joy', peace', long-suffering', gentle- 
ness', goodness', faith', meekness', temperance'. 

10 Members— Rule. 1', 2', 3', 4', 5', 6', 7, 8', 9', 10'. 
— Mr Locke's definition of wit, with this short explication, 
comprehends most of the species of wit ; as metaphors', enig- 
mas', mottoes', parables*, fables', dreams', visions', dramatic' 
writings, burlesque', and all the methods of allusion'. 

* In a simple concluding series of three members, the first must be 
pronounced in a little higher tone than the second. When pronouncing 
with a degree of solemnity, the first member in this series must have the 
falling inflection. 



24 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 



COMPOUND COMMENCING SERIES. 

Rule. — The falling inflection takes place on every member 

but the last* 

EXAMPLES. 

2 Members. — Common calamities', and common blessings' 
fall heavily upon the envious. 

3 Members. — A generous openness of heart', a calm deli- 
berate courage', a prompt zeal for the public service', are at 
once constituents of true greatness, and the best evidences of it. 

4 Members. — The splendour of the firmament', the verdure 
of the earth', the varied colours of the flowers, which fill the 
air with their fragrance', and the music of those artless voices 
which mingle on every tree', all conspire to captivate our hearts, 
and to swell them with the most rapturous delight. 

5 Members. — The verdant lawn', the shady grove', the 
variegated landscape', the boundless ocean', and the starry fir- 
mament', are contemplated with pleasure by every beholder. 

6 Members. — France and England may each of them have 
some reason to dread the increase of the naval and military 
power of the other ; but for either of them to envy the internal 
happiness and prosperity' of the other, the cultivation of its 
lands', the advancement of its manufactures', the increase of 
its commerce', the security and number of its ports and har- 
bours', its proficiency in all the liberal arts and sciences', is 
surely beneath the dignity of two such great nations. 

7 Members. — A contemplation of God's works', a voluntary 
act of justice to our own detriment', a generous concern for the 
good of mankind', tears shed in silence for the misery of others', 
a private desire of resentment broken and subdued', an unfeign- 
ed exercise of humility', or any other' virtue, are such actions 
as denominate men great and reputable. 

8 Members. — To acquire a thorough knowledge of our own 
hearts and characters', to restrain every irregular inclination', 
— to subdue every rebellious passion', — to purify the motives 
of our conduct', — to form ourselves to that temperance which no 
pleasure can seduce', — to that meekness which no provocation 
can ruffle', — to that patience which no affliction can overwhelm', 
and that integrity which no interest can shake' ; this is the 

* When the members of a compound series are numerous, the second 
must be pronounced a little higher and more forcibly than the first, the 
third than the second, &c. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 25 

task which is assigned to us, — a task which cannot be per- 
formed without the utmost diligence and care. 

9 Members. — Absalom's beauty', Jonathan's love\ David's 
valour', Solomon's wisdom', the patience of Job', the prudence 
of Augustus', the eloquence of Cicero', the innocence of Wis- 
dom', and the intelligence of all', though faintly amiable in the 
creature, are found in immense perfection in the Creator. 

10 Members. — The beauty of a plain', the greatness of a 
mountain', the ornaments of a building', the expression of a 
picture', the composition of a discourse', the conduct of a third' 
person, the proportions of different quantities and numbers', 
the various appearances which the great machine of the uni- 
verse is perpetually exhibiting', the secret wheels and springs 
which produce' them, all the general subjects of science and 
taste', are what we and our companions regard as having no 
peculiar relation to either of us. 



COMPOUND CONCLUDING SERIES. 

Rule. — The falling inflection takes place on every member 
except the last but one. 

EXAMPLES. 

2 Members. — Belief in the existence of a God is the great 
incentive to duty', and the great source of consolation'. 

3 Members.— When myriads and myriads of ages have 
elapsed, the righteous shall still have a blessed eternity before 
them: still continue brightening in holiness', increasing in 
happiness', and rising in glory'. 

4 Members. — Watch' ye, stand fast in the faith', quit you 
like men', be strong'. 

5 Members. — We should acknowledge God in all our 
ways' ; mark the operations of his hand' ; cheerfully submit 
to his severest dispensations' ; strictly observe his laws' ; and 
rejoice to fulfil his gracious purpose'. 

6 Members. — Without controversy, great is the mystery 
of godliness ; God was manifest in the flesh', justified in the 
spirit', seen of angels', preached unto the Gentiles', believed on 
in the world', received up into glory'. 

7 Members. — A true friend unbosoms freely', advises just- 
ly', assists readily', adventures boldly', takes all patiently', de- 
fends resolutely 7 , and continues a friend unchangeably'. 

8 Members. — True gentleness teaches us to bear one ano- 
ther's burdens'; to rejoice with those who rejoice'; to weep with 

b 



26 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

those who weep* ; to please every one his neighbour for his 
good'; to be kind and tender-hearted'; to be pitiful and courte- 
ous' ; to support the weak' ; and to be patient towards all' men. 

9 Members. — They through faith subdued kingdoms', 
wrought righteousness', obtained promises', stopped the mouths 
of lions', quenched the violence of fire', escaped the edge of the 
sword', out of weakness were made strong', waxed valiant in 
fight', turned to flight the armies of the aliens'. 

10 Members. — Leviculus was so well satisfied with his own 
accomplishments, that he determined to commence fortune- 
hunter; and when he was set at liberty, instead of beginning, 
as was expected, to walk the Exchange with a face of import- 
ance, or of associating himself with those who were most emi- 
nent for their knowledge of the Stocks, he at once threw off 
the solemnity of the counting'-house, equipped himself with a 
modish wig and a splendid coat', listened to wits in the coffee-- 
houses, passed his evenings behind the scenes in the theatres', 
learned the names of beauties of quality', hummed the last 
stanzas of fashionable songs', talked with familiarity of high 
play', boasted of his achievements upon drawers and coachmen \ 
told with negligence and jocularity of bilking a tailor', and now 
and then let fly a shrewd jest at a sober citizen'. 



EXAMPLES 

CONTAINING BOTH THE COMMENCING AND CONCLUDING SERIESES. 

1. He who is self-existent', omnipresent', omniscient', and 
omnipotent', is likewise infinitely holy 7 , and just', and good'. 

2. He who resigns the world, has no temptation to envy', 
hatred', malice', or anger', but is in constant possession of a 
serene mind; he who follows the pleasures of it, which are in 
their very nature disappointing, is in constant search of care', 
solicitude', remorse', and confusion'. 

3. To deserve', to acquire', and to enjoy' the respect and 
admiration of mankind, are the great objects of ambition' and 
emulation . 



PAIRS OF NOUNS 

ARE INFLECTED THUS : 

COMMENCING. CONCLUDING. 

Pairs. J Pairs. 

2 V & 2\ SP & 4' 1 2 P & 2', 3' & 4' 

3 V & 2\ y & 4\ 5' & 6' l 1 3 1' & 2\ 3* & 4', 5' & 6' 

4 1' & 2\ 3' & 4\ 5' & 6\ r & 8' 1 4 1' & 2\ 3' & 4\ 5' & V, T & 8' 

5...V & 2\ 3' & 4', 5' & 6\ 7' & 8\ 9" & W ' 5. ..J' & 2\ 3' & 4 V , ^ & 6\ T & 9, 9 & l& 



PRINCIPLES OP ELOCUTION. 27 

EXAMPLES. 

1. Vicissitudes of good' and evil", of trials' and consolations', 
till up the life of man. 

2. While the earth remaineth, seed'-time and harvest/ cold' 
and heat*, summer' and winter', and day' and night', shall not 
cease. 

3. The wise' and the foolish', the virtuous' and the vile', the 
learned' and the ignorant", the temperate' and the profligate', 
must often be blended together. 

4. In all stations and conditions, the important relations take 
place, of masters' and servants', husbands' and wives', parents' 
and children', brothers' and friends', citizens' and subjects*. 



SERIES OF SERIESES. 

Rule I. — When several members of a sentence, consisting of 
distinct portions of similar or opposite words in a series, 
follow in succession, they must be pronounced singly, ac- 
cording to the number of members in each portion, and to- 
gether, according to the number of portions in the whole sen- 
tence, that the whole may form one related compound series. 



examples. 



1. The soul consists of many faculties, as the understanding' 
and the will', with all the senses both inward' and outward' ; or, 
to speak more philosophically, the soul can exert herself in many 
different ways of action : she can understand', will', imagine' 
see', and hear' ; love' and discourse' ; and apply herself to many 
other like exercises of different kinds and natures*. 

2. For I am persuaded, that neither death', nor life' ; nor 
angels', nor principalities', nor powers' ; nor things present', 
nor things to come* ; nor height' nor depth* ; nor any other 
creature', shall be able to separate us from the love of God, 
which is in Christ Jesus our Lord'. 



Rule II. — Where the sense of the sentence does not require 
force, precision, or distinction, (which is but seldom the 
case), where the sentence commences with a conditional or 
suppositive conjunction, or where the language is plaintive 
and poetical, the falling inflection seems less suitable than 
the rising. 

examples. 
1. When the gay and smiling aspect of things has begun to 
leave the passages to a man's heart thus thoughtlessly unguard- 



28 PRINCIPLES OP ELOCUTION. 

ed' ; when kind and caressing looks of every object without, that 
can natter his senses, has conspired with the enemy within, to 
betray him and put him off his defence' ; when Music likewise 
hath lent her aid, and tried her power upon the passions' ; when 
the voice of singing men, and the voice of singing women, with 
the sound of the viol and the lute, have broken in upon his soul, 
and in some tender notes have touched the secret springs of 
rapture', — that moment let us dissect and look into his heart N ; 
— see how vain', how weak', how empty x a thing it is ! 

2. So when the faithful pencil has designed 
Some bright idea of the master's mind', 
Where a new world leaps out at his command, 
And ready nature waits upon his hand' ; 
When the ripe colours soften and unite, 
And sweetly melt into just shade and light' ; 
When mellowing years their full perfection give* ; 
And each bold figure just begins to live' ; 
The treacherous colours the fair art betray, 
And all' the bright' creation' fades' away'. 



Exercises on the Series. 

1. Ambition creates hatred, shyness, discords, seditions, and wars. 

2. To be moderate in our views, and to proceed temperately in the pur- 
suit of them, is the best way to ensure success. 

3. Joy, grief, love, admiration, devotion, are all of them passions which 
are naturally musical. 

4. Substantives, pronouns, adjectives, verbs, prepositions, and conjunc- 
tions, must necessarily be found in all languages. 

5. The several kinds of poetical composition which we find in Scripture, 
are chiefly the didactic, the elegiac, pastoral, and lyric. 

6. Discomposed thoughts, agitated passions, and a ruffled temper, poison 
every pleasure of life. 

7. The great business of life is to be employed in doing justly, loving 
mercy, and walking humbly with our Creator. 

8. Tranquillity, order, and magnanimity, dwell with the pious and re- 
signed man. 

9. A wise man will desire no more than what he may get justly, use 
soberly, distribute cheerfully, and live upon contentedly. 

10. The minor longs to be of age ; then to be a man of business ; then 
to make up an estate ; then to arrive at honours ; then to retire. 

11. Though, at times, the ascent to the temple of virtue appears steep 
and craggy, be not discouraged. Persevere until thou gain the summit : 
there, all is order, beauty, and pleasure. 

12. What is called profane history, exhibits our nature on its worst side . 
it is the history of perverse passions, of mean self-love, of revenge, hatred, 
extravagance, and folly. 

13. An ostentatious, a feeble, a harsh, or an obscure style, are always 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 29 

faults ; and perspicuity, strength, neatness, and simplicity, are beauties 
to be always aimed at. 

14. Valour, truth, justice, fidelity, friendship, piety, magnanimity, are 
the objects which, in the course of epic compositions, are presented to our 
mind under the most splendid and honourable colours. 

15. To be humble and modest in opinion, to be vigilant and attentive 
in conduct, to distrust fair appearances, and to restrain rash desires, are 
instructions which the darkness of our present state should strongly in- 
culcate. 

16. No blessing of life is any way comparable to the enjoyment of a dis- 
creet and virtuous friend. It eases and unloads the mind, clears and im- 
proves the understanding, engenders thoughts and knowledge, animates 
virtue and good resolutions, sooths and allays the passions, and finds em- 
ployment for most of the vacant hours of life. 

17. The time at which the Saviour was to appear — the circumstances 
with which his nativity was to be attended — the nature of the kingdom he 
was to establish — the power with which he was to be invested, and the 
success with which his labours were to be crowned — had been all prefigur- 
ed and described, in a manner calculated to excite the liveliest expectation 
in the minds of the chosen people. 

18. Were we united to beings of a more exalted order, — beings whose 
nature raised them superior to misfortune, placed them beyond the reach 
of disease and death, who were not the dupes of passion and prejudice, all 
of whose views were enlarged, whose goodness was perfected, and whose 
spirit breathed nothing but love and friendship, — then would the evils of 
which we now complain cease to be felt. 

19- All the oriental lustre of the richest gems ; all the enchanting 
beauties of exterior shape ; the exquisite of all forms ; the loveliness of 
colour ; the harmony of sound ; the heat and brightness of the enlivening 
sun ; the heroic virtue of the bravest minds ; with the purity and quick- 
ness of the highest intellect ; are all emanations from the supreme Deity. 
20. I conjure you by that which you profess 

(Howe'er you come to knew it) answer me; 

Though you untie the winds and let them fight 

Against the churches ; though the yesty waves 

Confound and swallow navigation up ; 

Though bladed com be lodged and trees blown down ; 

Though castles topple on their warders' heads ; 

Though palaces and pyramids do slope 

Their heads to their foundations ; though the treasure 

Of nature's germins tumble all together, 

Ev'n till destruction sicken, answer me 

To what I ask you. Macbeth to the Witches. 



HARMONIC INFLECTION. 

Besides that variety which necessarily arises from annexing certain in- 
flections to sentences of a particular import, or structure, there is still 
another source of variety, in those parts of a sentence where the sense is 



30 PRINCIPLES OP ELOCUTION. 

not at all concerned, and where the variety is merely to please the ear. 
There are many members of sentences which maybe differently pronoun- 
ced without greatly affecting their variety and harmony. It is chiefly 
towards the end of a sentence that the harmonic inflection is necessary in 
order to form an agreeable cadence. 



Rule I. — When a series of similar sentences, or members 
of sentences, form a branch of a subject or paragraph, 
the last sentence or member must fall gradually into a 
lower lone, and adopt the harmonic inflection, on such 
words as form the most agreeable cadence. 



EXAMPLE. 



Since I have mentioned this unaccountable zeal which ap- 
pears in atheists and infidels, I must farther observe, that they 
are likewise in a most particular manner possessed with the 
spirit of bigotry. They are wedded' to opinions' full of con- 
tradiction' and impossibility', and at the same' time' look upon 
the smallest' difficulty^ in an article^ of faith' as a sufficient 
reason for rejecting it. 



Rule II. — When the last member of a sentence ends with 
four accented words, the falling inflection takes place on 
the first and last, and the rising on the second and third. 



EXAMPLES. 



1. The immortality of the soul is the basis of morality, and 
the source of all the pleasing' hopes N and secret' joys', that can 
arise' in the heart' of a reasonable' creature'. 

2. A brave' man struggling' in the storms' of fate', 
And greatly' falling' with a falling' state'. 



Rule III. — When there are three accented words at the end 
of the last member, the first has either the rising or falling, 
the second the rising, and the last the falling inflection. 

EXAMPLE. 

Cicero concludes his celebrated books De Orator e, with 
some precepts for pronunciation and action, without which 
part he affirms, that the best orator in the world can never 
succeed, and an indifferent one, who is master of this, shall 
gain much' greater' applause 



PRINCIPLES OP ELOCUTION. HI 



ECHO 



Is here used to express that repetition of a word or thought, which im- 
mediately arises from a word or thought that preceded it. 

Rule. — The echoing word ought always to be pronounced 
with the rising inflection in a high tone of voice, and a long 
pause after it, when it implies any degree of passion .* 

EXAMPLES. 

1. Newton was a Christian ! Newton' ! whose mind burst 
forth from the fetters cast by nature on our finite conceptions — 
'Newton' I whose science was truth, and the foundation of whose 
knowledge of it was philosophy ; not those visionary and arro- 
gant presumptions which too often usurp its name, but philoso- 
phy resting on the basis of mathematics, which, like figures, 
cannot lie — Newton' ! who carried the line and rule to the ut- 
most barrier of creation, and explored the principles by which, 
no doubt, all created matter is held together and exists. 

2. With " mysterious reverence" I forbear to descant on those 
serious and interesting rites, for the more august and solemn 
celebration of which Fashion nightly convenes these splendid 
myriads to her more sumptuous temples. Rites' ! which, when 
engaged in with due devotion, absorb the whole soul, and call 
every passion into exercise, except those indeed of love, and 
peace, and kindness, and gentleness. Inspiring' rites ! which 
stimulate fear, rouse hope, kindle zeal, quicken dulness, sharpen 
discernment, exercise memory, inflame curiosity ! Rites' ! in 
short, in the due performance of which, all the energies and 
attentions, all the powers and abilities, all the abstractions and 
exertion, all the diligence and devotedness, all the sacrifice of 
time, all the contempt of ease, all the neglect of sleep, all the 
oblivion of care, all tha risks of fortune (half of which, if direct- 
ed to their true objects, would change the very face of the 
world), all these are concentrated to one point : a point' ! in 
which the wise and the weak, the learned and the ignorant, 
the fair and the frightful, the sprightly and the dull, the rich 
and the poor, the patrician and plebeian, meet in one common 
uniform equality : an equality' ! as religiously respected in 
these solemnities, in which all distinctions are levelled at a blow, 
and of which the very spirit is therefore democratical, as it is 
combated in all other instances. 

Hannah More on Female Education. 

* The echoing word is printed in italics, and marked with the rising 
inflection. 



32 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 



THE MONOTONE, 

In certain solemn and sublime passages, has a wonderful force and dig- 
nity ; and by the uncommonness of its use, it even adds greatly to that 
variety with which the ear is so much delighted.* 

EXAMPLES. 

1. High on a throne of royal state, which far 
Outshone the wealth of Ormus or of Inde 

Or where the gorgeous East, with richest hand, 
Showers, on her kings barbaric, pearP and gold 7 , 
Satan exalted sat. 

2. Hence ! loathed Melancholy, 

Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born, 
In Stygian cave forlorn, 

'Mongst horrid shapes and shrieks, and sights unholy, 
Find out some uncouth cell, 

Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings. 
And the night raven sings ; 

There, under ebon shades and low-browed rocks, 
As ragged as thy locks, 

In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. 



CIRCUMFLEXES. 

The rising circumflex begins with the falling inflection, and ends with 
the rising upon the same syllable, and seems as it were to twist the voice 
upwards. This turn of the voice is marked in this manner (v). 

EXAMPLE. 

But it is foolish in us to compare Drusus Africanus and 
ourselves with Clodius ; all our other calamities were toler- 
able ; but no one can patiently bear the death of Clodius. 

The falling circumflex begins with the rising inflection, and ends with 
the falling upon the same syllable, and seems to twist the voice down- 
wards. This turn of the voice may be marked by the common circum- 
flex : thus (a). 



* This monotone may be defined to be a continuation or sameness of 
sound upon certain syllables of a word, exactly like that produced by re- 
peatedly striking a bell ; — such a stroke may be louder or softer, but con- 
tinues exactly in the same pitch. To express this tone upon paper, a 
horizontal line may be adopted ; such a one as is generally used to express 
a long syllable in verse : thus (-). 



PRINCIPLES DP ELOCUTION. 33 

EXAMPLE. 

Queen. Hamlet, you hare your father much offended. 
Hamlet. Madam, you. hare my father much offended. 

Both these circumflex inflections may be exemplified in the word so, in 
a speech of the Clown in Shakspeare's As You Like it. 

I knew when seven justices could not take up a quarrel ; 
but when the parties were met themselves, one of them thought 
but of an If ; as if you said so, then I said so : O ho ! did you 
so ? So thev shook hands and were sworn brothers. 



CLIMAX, 

OR A GRADUAL INCREASE OF SIGNIFICATION, 

Requires an increasing swell of the voice on every succeed- 
ing particular, and a degree of animation corresponding 
with the nature of the subject. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. After we have practised good actions a while, they become 
easy ; and when they are easy, we begin to take pleasure in 
them j and when they please us, we do them frequently; and, 
by frequency of acts, a thing grows into a habit ; and a con- 
firmed habit is a second kind of nature; and, so far as any- 
thing is natural, so far it is necessary, and we can hardly do 
otherwise; nay, we do it many times when we do not think of it. 

2. 'Tis listening fear and dumb amazement all, 
When to the startled eye the sudden glance 
Appears far south, eruptive through the cloud ; 
And following slower in explosion vast, 
The thunder raises his tremendous voice. 
At first heard solemn o'er the verge of heaven, 
The tempest growls ; but, as it nearer comes, 
And rolls its awful burden on the wind, 
The lightnings flash a larger curve, and more 
The noise astounds ; till over-head a sheet 
Of livid flame discloses wide ; then shuts 
And opens wider ; shuts and opens still, 
Expansive, wrapping ether in a blaze : 
Follows the loosen'd aggravated roar, 
Enlarging, deepening, mingling ; peal on peal 
Crushed horrible, convulsing heaven and earth, 

b2 



34 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION 



ACCENT. 
Rule. — Emphasis requires a transposition of accent, when 
two words which have a sameness in part of their forma- 
tion, are opposed to each other in sense. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. What is done', cannot be z^done.* 

2. There is a material difference between giv'ing and Jor^ 
giving. 

3. Thought and language act' and re'act upon each other. 

4. He who is good before m'visible witnesses, is eminently 
so before the vis ible. 

5. What fellowship hath ng/^'eousness with z^Yighteous- 
ness ? and what communion hath light with darkness ? 

6. The riches of the prince must zVcrease or de'erease in 
proportion to the number and riches of his subjects. 

7» Region raises men above themselves ; er'religion sinks 
them beneath the brutes. 

8. I shall always make reason, truth, and nature, the mea- 
sures of praise' and t/zVpraise. 

9. Whatever convenience may be thought to be in false- 
hood and dissimulation, it is soon over; but the ^^'convenience 
of it is perpetual. 

10. The sense of an author being the first object of reading, 
it will be necessary to inquire into those dium v ons and sub'- 
divisions of a sentence, which are employed to fix and ascer- 
tain its meaning. 

1 1 . This corruptible must put on ^'corruption, and this 
mor'tdl must put on ^mortality. 

12. For a full collection of topics and epithets to be used in 
the praise' and dzVpraise of ministerial and ^'ministerial 
persons, I refer to our rhetorical cabinet. 

13. In the swi/'ableness or un ^suitableness, in the proportion 



* The signs (' and s ) besides denoting the inflections, mark also the ac- 
cented syllables. 

Whatever inflection be adopted, the accented syllable is always louder 
than the rest ; but if the accent be pronounced with the rising inflection, 
the accented syllable is higher than the preceding, and lower than the 
succeeding syllable ; and if the accent have the falling inflection, the ac- 
cented syllable is pronounced higher than any other syllable, either pre- 
ceding or succeeding. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 35 

or ^'/proportion which the affection seems to bear to the causae 
or object which excites it, consists the -propriety or impro- 
priety, the decency or ungracefulness of the consequent action. 
14. He that compares what he has done" with what he has 
left Wdone, will feel the effect which must always follow the 
comparison of imagination with reality. 

Note 1 This transposition of the accent extends itself to all words 

which have a sameness of termination, though they may not be directly 
opposite in sense. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. In this species of composition, plqu'sibillty is much more 
essential than probability. 

2. Lucius Catiline was expert in all the arts of Mm'ulation 
and GfaVsimulation ; covetous of what belonged to others, lavish 
of his own. 

Note 2 — When the accent is on the last syllable of a word which has 
no emphasis, it must be pronounced louder and a degree lower than the 
rest. 

EXAMPLE. 

Sooner or later virtue must meet with a reward". 



EMPHASIS 

Is that stress we lay on words which are in contradistinction to other 
words expressed or understood. And hence will follow this general rule ; 
Wherever there is contradistinction in the sense of the words, there ought 
to he emphasis in the pronunciation of them. 

All words are pronounced either with emphatic force, accented force, or 
unaccented force ; this last kind of force may be called by the name of 
feebleness. When the words are in contradistinction to other words, or 
to some sense implied, they may be called emphatic ; where they do not 
denote contradistinction, and yet are more important than the particles, 
they may be called accented, and the particles and lesser words may be 
called unaccented or feeble. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. Exercise and temperance strengthen the constitution. 

2. Exercise and temperance strengthen even an indif- 
ferent constitution. 

The word printed in Roman capitals is pronounced with emphatic force ; 
those in small italics are pronounced with accented force ; the rest witli 
unaccented force. 



36 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

Emphasis always implies antithesis : when this antithesis is agreeable 
to the sense of the author, the emphasis is proper ; but where there is no 
antithesis in the thought, there ought to be none on the words ; because, 
whenever an emphasis is placed upon an improper word, it will suggest 
an antithesis, which either does not exist, or is not agreeable to the sense 
and intention of the writer. 

The best method to find the emphasis in these sentences, is to take the 
word we suppose to be emphatical, and try if it will admit of these words 
being supplied which an emphasis on it would suggest : if, when these 
words are supplied, we find them not only agreeable to the meaning of 
the writer, but an improvement of his meaning, we may pronounce the 
word emphatical ; but if these words we supply are not agreeable to the 
meaning of the words expressed, or else give them an affected and fanciful 
meaning, we ought by no means to lay the emphasis upon them. 



EXAMPLE. 

3. A man of a polite imagination is led into a great many 
pleasures that the vulgar are not capable of receiving ; he can 
converse with a picture, and find an agreeable companion in a 
statue. 

In this sentence an emphasis on the word picture is not only an advan- 
tage to the thought, but is in some measure necessary to it : for it hints to 
the mind, that a polite imagination does not only find pleasure in convers- 
ing with those objects which give pleasure to all, but with those which 
give pleasure to such only as can converse with them. 

All emphasis has an antithesis either expressed or understood : if the 
emphasis excludes the antithesis, the emphatic word has the falling in- 
flection ; if the emphasis does not exclude the antithesis, the emphatic 
word has the rising inflection. The distinction between the two emphatic 
inflections is this : The falling inflection affirms something in the emphasis, 
and denies what is opposed to it in the antithesis, while the emphasis with 
the rising inflection affirms something in the emphasis v/ithout denying 
what is opposed to it in the antithesis : the former, therefore, from its 
affirming and denying absolutely, may be called the strong emphasis ; and 
the latter, from its affirming only, and not denying, may be called the 
weak emphasis — We have an instance of the strong emphasis and falling 
inflection on the words despite and fear, in the following sentence, where 
Richard the Third rejects the proposal of the Duke of .Norfolk to pardon 
the rebels. 



4. Why that, indeed, was our sixth Harry's way, 
Which made his reign, one scene of rude commotion : 
Fll be in men's despite" a monarch ; no, 
Let kings that fear" forgive ; blows and revenge 
For me. 



The paraphrase of these words, when thus emphatical, would be, I'll 
be, not in men'' s favour, but in their despite, a monarch — and let not me 
v. ho am fearless, but kings that fear, forgive. — The weak emphasis, 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 37 

with the rising inflection, takes place on the word man in the following ex- 
ample from the Fair Penitent, where Horatio, taxing Lothario with 
forgery, says, 

5. 'Twas base and poor, unworthy of a man', 
To forge a scroll so villanous and loose, 
And mark it with a noble lady's name. 

If this emphasis were paraphrased, it would run thus : ' Twas base and 
poor, unworthy of a man, though not unworthy of a brute. 



The first of the following examples is an instance of the single emphasis 
implied ; the second, of the single emphasis expressed ; the third, of the 
double emphasis ; and the fourth, of the treble emphasis.* 

1. Exercise and temperance strengthen even an indifferent 
constitution. 

2. You were paid to ffght against Alexander, and not to 
rait at him. 

3. The pleasures of the imagination are not so gross" as 
those of sense', nor so rejined' as those of the understanding". 

4. He' raised a morlat to the skies', 
She" drew an angel' down". 



SINGLE EMPHASIS.f 

Rule. — When a sentence is composed of a positive and nega- 
tive part, the positive must have the falling, and the nega- 
tive the rising infiection.% 

EXAMPLES. 

1 . We can do nothing against the truth, but for" the truth. 

2. None more impatiently suffer' injuries, than they who 
are most forward in doing" them. 

3. You were paid to Jight" against Alexander, and not to 
rait at him. 

4. Hunting (and men", not beasts'), shall be his game. 



* In these examples of emphasis the emphatic -word alone is printed in 
italics ; the marks above them denote the inflections. 

-j- When two emphatic words in antithesis with each other are either ex- 
pressed or implied, the emphasis is said to be single. 

J To this rule, however, there are some exceptions, not only in poetry, 
but also in prose. 



38 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

5. Caesar, who would not wait the conclusion of the consul's 
speech, generously replied, that he came into Italy not to injure' 
the liberties of Rome and its citizens, but to restore" them. 

6. If any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father, 
Jesus Christ the righteous ; and he is the propitiation for our 
sins ; and not for ours' only, but also for the sins of the whole 
world". 

7- Behold what manner of love the Father hath bestowed on 
us, that we should be called the sons of God ! therefore the 
world knoweth us' not, because it knew him" not. 

8. It is not the business of virtue to extirpate' the affections 
of the mind, but to regulate" them : 

9. It may moderate and restrain', but was not designed to 
banish" gladness from the heart of man. 

10. Those governments which curb' not evils, cause" ! 
And a rich knave's a libel on our laws. 
11. For if you pronounce, that, as my public conduct hath 
not been right, Ctesiphon must stand condemned, it must be 
thought that yourselves" have acted wrong, not that you owe 
your present state to the caprice of fortune'. But it cannot be. 
No, my countrymen ! it cannot be you have acted wrong, in 
encountering danger bravely, for the liberty and safety of 
Greece'. No ! by those generous souls of ancient times, who 
were exposed at Marathon" ! by those who stood arrayed at 
Platoea" ! by those who encountered the Persian fleet at Sala- 
mis" ! who fought at Arlemisium" I By all those illustrious 
sons of Athens, whose remains lie deposited in the public mo- 
numents" ! All of whom received the same honourable inter- 
ment from their country : Not those only who prevailed', not 
those only who were victorious'. And with reason. What 
was the part of gallant men they all performed ; their success 
was such as the Supreme Director of the world dispensed to 
each. 

Note — When two objects are compared, the comparative word has the 
strong emphasis and falling inflection, and the word compared has the 
weak emphasis and rising inflection.* 

EXAMPLES. 

1. It is a custom 

More honoured in the breach? than the observance' . 

2. I would die^ sooner than mention it. 



* This is the case when it is the intention of the speaker to declare with 
emphasis, the priority or preferableness of one thing to another. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 39 



DOUBLE EMPHASIS.* 

Rule. — The falling inflection takes place on the first em- 
phatic word, the rising on the second and third, and the 
flailing on the flour I h.f 

EXAMPLES. 

1. To err" is human' ; to for give' divine". 

2. Custom is the plague" of wise? men, and the idol' of flools. 

3. The prodigal" robs his heir*, the miser' robs hhnself". 

4. We" are weak', and ye? are strong". 

5. Without" wereflghtings', within' weveflears". 

6. Business" sweetens pleasure', as labour' sweetens rest*. 
y. Prosperity" gains' friends, and adversity' tries" them. 

8. The wise" man considers what he wants', and the flool' 
what he abounds" in. 

9. One" sun by day' — by night' ten thousand" shine. 

JO. Justice appropriates honours* to virtue', and rewards' 
to merit\ 

11. Justice" seems most agreeable to the nature of God', 
and mercy' to that of man". 

12. It is as great a point of wisdom to hide" ignorance', as 
to discover' knowledge". 

13. As it is the part of justice" never to do violence', it is 
of modesty' never to commit offence". 

14. If men of eminence are exposed to censure* on one' hand, 
they are as much liable to flattery' on the olher\ 

15. The wise* man is happy when he gains his own' appro- 
bation, and the flool' when he recommends himself to the ap- 
plause of those about"" him. 

16. We make provision for this" life as though it were never 
to have an end', and for the other' life as though it were never 
to have a beginning*. 

17. Alfred seemed born not only to defend" his bleeding 
country', but even to adorn' humanity*: 

18. His care was to polish* the country by arts', as he had 
protected' it by arms". 

* When two words are opposed to each other, and contrasted with two 
other words, the emphasis on these four words may be called double. 

-f- The pause after the second emphatic word must be considerably long- 
er than that after the first or third. 



40 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

19. Yielding to immoral" pleasure corrupts' the mind, living 
to animal and trifling' ones debases' it. 

20. Grief is the counter passion of joy. The one" arises 
from agreeable', and the other' from <7jY agreeable events, — the 
one" from pleasure', and the other' from pain, — the one" from 
good', and the other' from evil". 

21. Fools'" anger show', which politicians' ldde s . 
22. The foulest stain and scandal of our nature 

Became its boast. One' murder makes a villain', 
Millions' a Hero". War" its thousands' slays, 
Peace' its ten" thousands. 

23. In arms opposed, 

Marlborough and Alexander vie for fame 

With glorious competition ; equal both 

In valour and in fortune : but their praise 

Be different, for with different views they fought ; 

This'' to subdue', and that' to free"* mankind.* 



TREBLE EMPHASIS.f 

Rule. — The rising inflection takes place on the first and 
third, and the falling on the second of the first three cm- 
phatical words ; the first and third of the other three have 
the falling, and the second has the rising inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. A friend' cannot be known" in prosperity' ; and an enemy" 
cannot be hidden' in adversity". 

2. Flowers of rhetoric in sermons or serious discourses are 
like the blue and red flowers in corn, pleasing' to those" who 
come only for amusement' , but prejudicial" to him' who would 
reap the profit". 

3. Man is a creature designed for two different states of be- 
ing, or, rather, for two different lives. The first' life is short 
and transient' ; his second", permanent' and lasting". 

4. The difference between a madman and a fool is, that the 
former' reasons justly", from false' data; and the latter" erro- 
neously', from just" data. 

* Though some of the examples under the head of emphasis are not 
strictly emphatical, yet the words marked as such will show how similarly 
constructed sentences may be read. 

-f When three emphatic words are opposed to three other emphatic words 
in the same sentence^ the emphasis is called treble. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 41 

5. He' raised a mortaV to the skies', 
She" drew an angel' do?vn s . 

6. Passions' are winds'' to urge us o'er the wave', 
Reason^ the rudder', to direct and save'" ; 

7- This' without those' obtains a vain' employ, 
Those' without this', but urge us to destroy^. 

8. The generous buoyant spirit is a power 
Which in the virtuous mind doth all things conquer. 
It bears' the hero'" on to arduous' deeds: 
It lifts" the saint' to heaven\ 

yote. — In the following examples the treble emphasis, though not ex. 
pressed, is evidently implied. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. To reign is worth ambition, though in hell ; 
Better to reign' in hell* than serve' in heaven\ 

2. I would rather be the first' man in that village' 1 than the second' in 
Rome y . 



THE ANTECEDENT. 

Rule I. — Personal or adjective pronouns, when antecedents, 
must be pronounced with accentual force, to intimate that 
the relative is in view, and in some measure to anticivaie 
the pronunciation of it* 

EXAMPLES. 

1. He, that pursues fame with just claims, trusts his hap- 
piness to the winds ; but he, that endeavours after it by false 
merit, has to fear, not only the violence of the storm, but the 
leaks of his vessel. 

2. The weakest reasoners are always the most positive in 
debate ; and the cause is obvious ; for they are unavoidably 
driven to maintain their pretensions by violence, who want 
arguments and reasons to prove that they are in the right. 

3. A man will have his servant just, diligent, sober, and 
chaste, for no other reason but the terror of losing his master's 
favour, when all the laws divine and human cannot keep him 
whom he serves within bounds, with relation to any one of 
these virtues. 

4. And greater sure my merit, who, to gain 
A point sublime, could such a task sustain. 



42 



PRINCIPLES OP ELOCUTION. 



Rule II. — When the relative only is expressed, the antece- 
dent being understood, the accentual force then falls upon 
the relative. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy, 
The soul's calm sunshine, and the heartfelt joy,' 
Is virtue's prize. 

2. Who noble ends by noble means obtains, 
Or failing, smiles in exile or in chains, 
Like good Aurelius let him reign, or bleed 
Like Socrates, that man is great indeed. 



GENERAL EMPHASIS 

Is that emphatic force, which, when the composition is very animated, 
and approaches to a close, we often lay upon several words in succession. 
This emphasis is not so much regulated by the sense of the author, as by 
the taste and feelings of the reader, and therefore does not admit of any 
certain rule. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. What men could do 



Is done already : heaven and earth will witness, 
If Rome" musffaU ', that we are innocent. 
2. There was a time, then, my fellow-citizens, when the 
Lacedaemonians were sovereign masters both by sea and land ; 
when their troops and forts surrounded the entire circuit of 
Attica; when they possessed Euboea, Tanagra, the whole 
Boeotian district, Megara, iEgina, Cleone, and the other 
islands, while this state had not one ship, noC one' rvalP. 

In these examples, if the words marked as emphatic are pronounced with 
the proper inflections, and with a distinct pause after each, it is incon- 
ceivable the force that will be given to these few words. — This general 
emphasis, it may be observed, has identity for its object, the antithesis to 
which is appearance, similitude, or the least possible diversity. 



THE INTERMEDIATE OR ELLIPTICAL MEMBER 

Is that part of a sentence which is equally related to both parts of an 
antithesis but which is properly only once expressed. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 41} 

EXAMPLES. 

1. Must we, in your person, crown' the author of the public 
calamities, or must we destroy" him ? 

2. A good man will love himself too well to lose? an estate by 
gaming, and his neighbour too well to win" one. 

In the above examples, the elliptical members, " the author of the pub- 
lic calamities" and " an estate by gaming," — are pronounced with the rising 
inflection, but with a higher and feebler tone of voice than the antithetic 
words crown and lose.* 

In the two following examples, the elliptical members, which are im- 
mediately after the last two antithetic words win and brain, are pronounced 
with the falling inflection, but in a lower tone of voice than these words. 

EXAMPLES. 

3. A good man will love himself too well to lose', and his 
neighbour too well to win", an estate by gaming. 

4. It would be in vain to inquire, whether the power of 
imagining things strongly proceeds from any greater perfec- 
tion in the soul', or from any nicer texture in the brain' of 
one man than of another. 

When the intermediate member contains an emphatical word, or extends 
to any length, it will be necessary to consider it as an essential member cf 
the sentence, and to pronounce it with emphasis and variety. 

EXAMPLE. 

5. A man would not only be an unhappy', but a rude unfi- 
nished"' creature, were he conversant with none but those of 
his own make. 



EXERCISES ON EMPHASIS. 

1. In their prosperity, my friends shall never hear of me ; in their ad- 
versity, always. 

2. There is no possibility of speaking properly the language of any pas. 
sion, without feeling it. 

3. A book that is to be read, requires one sort of style ; a man that is to 
speak, must use another. 

4. A sentiment, which, expressed diffusely, will barely be admitted to 
be just ; expressed concisely, will be admired as spirited. 

5. Whatever may have been the origin of pastoral poetry, it is undoubt- 
edly a natural, and very agreeable form of poetical composition. 

6. A stream that runs within its banks is a beautiful object ; but when 



* When the elliptical member contains no emphatical word it must be 
pronounced in a monotone. 



44 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

it rushes down with the impetuosity and noise of a torrent, it presently be- 
comes a sublime one. 

7- Though rules and instructions cannot do all that is requisite, thev 
may, however, do much that is of real use. They cannot, it is true, in- 
spire genius ; but they can direct and assist it. They cannot remedy 
barrenness ; but they can correct redundancy. 

8. A French sermon is, for the most part, a warm animated exhortation ; 
an English one, is a piece of cool instructive reasoning. The French 
preachers address themselves chiefly to the imagination and the passions ; 
the English, almost solely to the understanding. 

9. No person can imagine that to be a frivolous and contemptible art, 
which has been employed by writers under divine inspiration, and has 
been chosen as a proper channel for conveying to the world the knowledge 
of divine truth. 

10. The tastes of men may differ very considerably as to their object, 
and yet none of them be wrong. One man relishes poetry most ; ano- 
ther takes pleasure in nothing but history. One prefers comedy ; ano- 
ther, tragedy. One admires the simple ; another, the ornamented style. 
The young are amused with gay and sprightly compositions ; the elderly 
are more entertained with those of a graver cast. Some nations delight in 
bold pictures of manners, and strong representations of passions ; others 
incline to more correct and regular elegance both in description and sen- 
timent. Though all differ, yet all pitch upon some one beauty which pe- 
culiarly suits their turn of mind ; and, therefore, no one has a title to con- 
demn the rest. 

11. Pleads he in earnest ? Look upon his face : 
His eyes do drop no tears ; his prayers are jest ; 

His words come from his mouth ; ours, from our breast ; 
He prays but faintly, and would be denied ; 
We pray with heart and soul. 

12. Two principles in human nature reign ; 
Self-love to urge, and reason to restrain ; 
Nor this a good, nor that a bad we call ; 
Each works its end, to move or govern all. 

13. See the sole bliss Heaven could on all bestow ! 
Which who but feels can taste, but thinks can know : 
Yet poor with fortune, and with learning blind, 
The bad must miss ; the good untaught will find. 

14. In this our day of proof, our land of hope, 
The good man has his clouds that intervene ; 
Clouds that may dim his sublunary day, 
But cannot darken : even the best must own, 
Patience and resignation are the pillars 

Of human peace on earth. 

15. Some dream that they can silence when they will 
The storm of passion, and say, Peace, be still ; 
But « Thus far, and no farther,'' when addressed 
To the wild wave, or wilder human breast, 
Implies authority, that never can, 

And never ought to be the lot of man. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 4f> 

While hence they walk, the pilgrim's bosom wrought 
With all the travail of uncertain thought. 
His partner's acts, without their cause appear: 
'Twas there a vice, and seem'd a madness here. 
Detesting that, and pitying this, he goes, 
Lost and confounded with the various shows. 



RHETORICAL PAUSES. 

Rule I. — Pause after the nominative when it consists of 
more than one word.* 

EXAMPLES. 

1. The fashion of this world passeth away. 

2. To practise virtue is the sure way to love it. 

3. The pleasures and honours of the world to come are, in 
the strictest sense of the word, everlasting. 

Note 1 — A pause may he made after a nominative, even when it con- 
sists of only one word, if it be a word of importance, or if we wish it to be 
particularly observed. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. Adversity is the school of piety. 

2. The fool hath said in his heart there is no God. 

Note 2 — When a sentence consists of a nominative and a verb, each 
expressed in a single word, no pause is necessary. 

EXAJirLES. 

1. George learns. — 2. The boys read. — 3. The tree grows.— 4. He comes. 



Rule II. — When any member comes between the nominative 
case and the verb, it must be separated from both of them 
by a short pause. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. Trials in this state of being are the lot of man. 

2. Such is the constitution of men, that virtue however it 
may be neglected for a time will ultimately be acknowledged 
and respected. 



* The place of the pause is immediately before each of the words printed 
in italics. 



46 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 



Rule III. — When any member comes between the verb and 
the objective or accusative case, it must be separated from 
both of them by a short pause. 



EXAMPLE. 



I knew a person who possessed the faculty of distin- 
guishing flavours in so great a perfection, that, after having 
tasted ten different kinds of tea, he would distinguish without 
seeing the colour of it the particular sort which was offered 
him. 



Rule IV. — WJben two verbs come together, and the latter is 
in the infinitive mood, if any words come between, they 
must be separated from the latter verb by a pause. 

EXAMPLE. 

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer 
The stings and arrows of outrageous fortune ; 
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 
And by opposing end them ? 

Note When the verb to be is followed by a verb in the infinitive 

mood, which may serve as a nominative case to it, and the phrases before 
and after the verb may be transposed, then the pause falls between the 
verbs. 

EXAMPLE. 

The greatest misery is to be condemned by our own hearts. 



Rule V. — When several substantives become the nominative 
to the same verb, a pause inust be made between the last 
substantive and the verb, as well as after each of the other 
substantives. 

example. 

Riches, pleasure, and health become evils to those who do 
not know how to use them. 



PRINCIPLES OP ELOCUTION. 47 



Rule VI. — If there are several adjectives belonging to one 
substantive, or several substantives belonging to one adjec- 
tive, every adjective coming after its substantive, and every 
adjective coming before the substantive except the last, 
must be separated by a short pause.* 

EXAMPLES. 

1. It was a calculation accurate to the last degree. 

2. A behaviour active supple and polite,, is necessary to suc- 
ceed in life. 

3. The idea of an eternal uncaused Being, forces itself upon 
the reflecting mind. 

4. Let but one brave great active disinterested man arise, 
and he will be received, followed, and venerated. 

Note. — This rule applies also to sentences in which several adverbs be- 
long to one verb, or several verbs to one adverb. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. To love wisely rationally and prudently, is, in the opinion of lovers, 
not to love at all. 

2. Wisely rationally and prudently to love, is, in the opinion of lovers, 
not to love at all. 



Rule VII. — Whatever words are in the ablative absolute, 
must be separated from the rest by a short pause both be- 
fore and after them. 

EXAMPLES. 

1 . If a man borrow aught of his neighbour, and it be hurt 
or die the owner thereof not being with it he shall surely make 
it good. 

2. God, from the mount of Sinai, whose grey top 
Shall tremble he descending will himself 
In thunder, lightnings, and loud tempests' sound 
Ordain them laws. 



* No pause is admitted between the substantive and the adjective in the 
inverted order, when the adjective is single, or unaccompanied by adjuncts. 
— Thus, in this line, — 

They guard with arms divine the British throne— 
The adjective divine cannot be separated by a pause from the substantive 



48 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 



Rule VIII. — Nouns in opposition, or words in the same 
case, where the latter is only explanatory of the former, 
have a short pause between them, either if both these nouns 
consist of many terms, or the latter only. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. Hope the balm of life, soothes us under every misfortune. 

2. Solomon the son of David and the builder of the temple 
of Jerusalem, was the richest monarch that reigned over the 
Jewish people. 

Note — If the two nouns are single, no pause is admitted ; as, Paul the 
apostle ; King George ; the Emperor Alexander. 



Rule IX. — When two substantives come together, and the 
latter, which is in the genitive case, consists of several 
words closely united with each other, a pause is admissible 
between the two principal substantives. 



EXAMPLE. 



I do not know whether I am singular in my opinion, but, 
for my own part, I would rather look upon a tree in all its 
luxuriancy, and diffusion of boughs and branches, than when 
it is cut and trimmed into a mathematical figure. 



Rule X. — Who, which, when in the nominative case, and 
the pronoun that, when used for who or which, require a 
short pause before them. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. Death is the season which brings our affections to the test. 

2. Nothing is in vain that rouses the soul : nothing in vain 
that keeps the ethereal lire alive and glowing. 

3. A man can never be obliged to submit to any power, un- 
less he can be satisfied who is the person who has a right to 
exercise it. 

Note — There are several words usually called adverbs, which include 
in them the power of the relative pronoun, and will therefore admit of a 
pause before them ; such as, when, why, wherefore, how, v;here, whether, 
whither, whence, while, till or until : for when is equivalent to the time at 
which ; why, or wherefore, is equivalent to the reason for which ; and so 
of the rest. It must, however, be noted, that when a preposition comes 
before one of these relatives, the pause is before the preposition ; and 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 49 

that, if any of these words is the last word of the sentence, or clause of a 
sentence, no pause is admitted before it : as, " I have read the book, of 
which I have heard so much commendation, but 1 know not the reason 
why. I have heard one of the books much commended, but I cannot tell 
which," &c. 

It must likewise be observed, that, if the substantive which governs 
the relative, and makes it assume the genitive case, comes before it, no 
pause is to be placed either before which, or the preposition that go- 
verns it. 

EXAMPLE. 

The passage of the Jordan is a figure of baptism, by the grace of which 
the new-born Christian passes from the slavery of sin into a state of free- 
dom peculiar to the chosen sons of God. 



Rule XI. — Pause before that, when it is used for a 
conjunction. 



EXAMPLE. 



It is in society only that we can relish those pure deli- 
cious joys which embellish and gladden the life of man. 



Rule XII. — When a pause is necessary at prepositions and 
conjunctions, it must be before and not after them. 

examples. 

1. We must not conform to the world in their amusements 
and diversions. 

2. There is an inseparable connexion between piety and 
virtue. 



Note 1. — When a clause comes between the conjunction and the word 
to which it belongs, a pause may be made both before and after the con- 
junction. 

EXAMPLE. 

This let him know, 
Lest, wilfully transgressing, he pretend 
Surprisal. 

Note 2 — When a preposition enters into the composition of a verb, the 
pause comes after it. 

EXAMPLE. 

People expect in a small essay, that a point of humour should be worked 
up in all its parts, and a subject touched upon in its most essential articles, 
without the repetitions, tautologies, and enlargements, that are indulged to 
longer labours. 

f 



50 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 



Rule XIII. — In an elliptical sentence, pause where the 
ellipsis takes place. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. To our faith we should add virtue ; and to virtue know- 
ledge; and to knowledge temperance ; and to temperance pa- 
tience ; and to patience godliness ; and to godliness brotherly 
kindness ; and to brotherly kindness charity. 

2. The vain man takes praise for honour, the proud man 
ceremony for respect, the ambitious man power for glory. 



Rule XIV. — Words placed either in opposition to, or in ap- 
position with each other, must be distinguished by a pause. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. The pleasures of the imagination, taken in their full ex- 
tent, are not so gross as those of sense, nor so refined as those 
of the understanding. 

2. Some place the bliss in action, some mease : 
Those call it pleasure, and contentment these. 



Rule XV. — When prepositions are placed in opposition to 
each other, and all of them are intimately connected witli 
another word, the pause after the second preposition must 
be shorter than that after the first, and the pause after the 
third shorter than that after the second.* 



EXAMPLES. 



1 . Rank, distinction, pre-eminence, no man despises, unless 
he is either raised very much above, or sunk very much below, 
the ordinary standard of human nature. 

2. Whenever words are contrasted with, contradistinguished 
from, or opposed to, other words, they are always emphatical. 

As those classes of words, which admit of no separation, are very small 
and very few, if we do but take the opportunity of pausing where the 
sense will permit, we shall never be obliged to break in upon the sense 



* In the examples annexed to this rule, the prepositions, as t! ey are 
emphatic, are printed in italics, and the pause comes after them. 



PRINCIPLES OP ELOCUTION. 51 

when we find ourselves under the necessity of pausing ; but if we over- 
shoot ourselves by pronouncing more in a breath than is necessary, and 
neglecting those intervals where we may pause conveniently, we shall often 
rind ourselves obliged to pause where the sense is not separable, and, con- 
sequently, to weaken and obscure the composition. This observation, for 
the sake of the memory, may be conveniently comprised in the following 
verses : 

In pausing, ever let this rule take place, 

Never to separate words in any case 

That are less separable than those you join : 

And, which imports the same, not to combine 

Such words together, as do not relate 

So closely as the words you separate. 



Exercises on Pausing. 

1 . The path of piety and virtue pursued with a firm and constant 
spirit will assuredly lead to happiness. 

2. Deeds of mere valour how heroic soever may prove cold and 
tiresome. 

3. Homer claims on every account our first attention as the fa- 
ther not only of epic poetry but in some measure of poetry itself. 

4. War is attended with distressful and desolating effects. It is 
confessedly the scourge of our angry passions. 

5. The warrior's fame is often purchased by the blood of thou- 
sands. 

6= The erroneous opinions which we form concerning happiness 
and misery give rise to all the mistaken and dangerous passions 
that embroil our life. 

7. Peace of mind being secured we may smile at misfortunes. 

S. Idleness is the great fomenter of all corruptions in the human 
heart. 

9. The best men often experience disappointments. 

10. The conformity of the thought to truth and nature greatly 
recommends it. 

1 1 . Hatred and anger are the greatest poison to the happiness of 
a good mind. 

12. A perfect happiness bliss without alloy is not to be found on 
this side the grave. 

13. The true spirit of religion cheers as well as compeses the 
soul. 

1 4. Reflection is the guide which leads to truth. 

15. The first science of man is the study of himself. 

16. The spirit of light, and grace is promised to assist them that 
ask it. 



SELECT EXTRACTS FOR RECITATION. 



1. THE USES OF ADVERSITY. 

Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile, 
Hath not old custom made this life more sweet 
Than that of painted pomp ? Are not these woods 
More free from peril than the envious court ? 
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam. 
The seasons' difference, — as, the icy fang, 
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, 
Which when it bites and blows upon my body, 
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, — 
This is no flattery ; — these are counsellors, 
That feelingly persuade me what I am. 
Sweet are the uses of adversity ; 
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, 
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head ; 
And this our life, exempt from public haunts. 
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 
Sermons in stones, and good in every thing. 

Shakspeare. 



2. THE SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE. 

Warriors arid chiefs ! should the shaft or the sword 
Pierce me in leading the hosts of the Lord, 
Heed not the corse, though a king's, in your path : 
Bury your steel in the bosoms of Gath ! 

Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow, 
Should the soldiers of Saul look away from the foe, 
Stretch me that moment in blood at thy feet ! 
Mine be the doom, which they dared not to meet. 

Farewell to others, but never we part, 

Heir to my royalty, son of my heart ! 

Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway, 

Or kingly the death, which awaits us to-day ! Byron. 



3. — the jackdaw. 

There is a bird, who, by his coat, 
And by the hoarseness of his note. 
Might be supposed a crow ; 



SELECT EXTRACTS FOR RECITATION. 53 

A great frequenter of the church, 
Where, bishoplike, he finds a perch, 
And dormitory too. 

Above the steeple shines a plate, 
That turns and turns, to indicate 

From what point blows the weather : 
Look up — your brains begin to swim, 
Tis in the clouds — that pleases him, 

He chooses it the rather. 

Fond of the speculative height, 
Thither he wings his airy flight, 

And thence securely sees 
The bustle and the rareeshow, 
That occupy mankind below, 

Secure and at his ease. 

You think, no doubt, he sits and muses 
On future broken bones and bruises, 

If he should chance to fall. 
Xo ; not a single thought like that 
Employs Ms philosophic pate, 

Or troubles it at all. 

He sees, that this great roundabout, 
The world, with all its motley rout, 

Church, army, physic, law, 
Its customs, and its bus'nesses, 
Is no concern at all of his, 

And says — what says he ? — Caw. 

Thrice happy bird ! I too have seen 
Much of the vanities of men ; 

And, sick of having seen 'em, 
Would cheerfully these limbs resign 
For such a pair of wings as thine, 

And such a head between 'em. Cowper. 



4. IIARCELLUS'S SPEECH TO THE MOB. 

Wherefore rejoice? that Caesar comes in triumph? 

What conquest brings he home ? 

What tributaries follow him to Rome, 

To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels ? 



54 SELECT EXTRACTS FOR RECITATION. 

You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things ! 

0, you hard hearts ! you cruel men of Rome ! 

Knew you not Pompey ? many a time and oft 

Have you climbed up to walls and battlements, 

To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, 

Your infants in your arms, and there have sat 

The livelong day, with patient expectation, 

To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome : 

And when you saw his chariot but appear, 

Have you not made a universal shout, 

That Tiber trembled underneath her banks, 

To hear the replication of your sounds, 

Made in her concave shores ? 

And do you now put on your best attire ? 

And do you now cull out a holiday ? 

And do you now strew flowers in his way, 

That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood? 

Be gone ! 

Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, 

Pray to the gods to intermit the plagues 

That needs must light on this ingratitude. Shakspe^re. 



5. THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. 

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral-note, 
As his corse to the ramparts we hurried ; 

Not a soldier discharged his farewell-shot, 
O'er the grave where our hero we buried. 

We buried him darkly at dead of night, 
The sods with our bayonets turning, 

By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, 
And the lantern dimly burning. 

No useless coffin enclosed his breast, 

Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him, 

But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, 
With his martial cloak around him. 

Few and short were the prayers we said, 
And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; 

But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead, 
And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 



SELECT EXTRACTS FOR RECITATION. 5£ 

We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, 

And smoothed down his lonely pillow, 
That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, 

And we far away on the billow ! 

Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, 

And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him, — 
But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on 

. In the grave where a Briton has laid him. 

But half of our heavy task was done, 

When the clock struck the hour for retiring ; 

And we heard the distant and random gun, 
That the foe was sullenly firing. 

Slowly and sadly we laid him down, 

From the field of his fame fresh and gory ; 
We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone — 

But we left him alone with his glory. Wolfe. 



6. THE CHAMELEON. 

Oft has it been my lot to mark 
A proud, conceited, talking spark, 
With eyes that hardly served at most 
To guard their master 'gainst a post ; 
Yet round the world the blade has been 
To see whatever could be seen, 
Returning from his finished tour, 
Grown ten times perter than before, 
Whatever word you chanced to drop, 
The travelled fool your mouth will stop, 
" Sir, if my judgment you'll allow — 
" I've seen — and sure I ought to know" — 
So begs you'd pay a due submission, 
And acquiesce in his decision. 

Two travellers of such a cast, 
As o'er Arabia's wilds they past, 
And on their way in friendly chat, 
Now talked of this, and then of that, 
Discoursed a while, 'mongst other matter, 
Of the Chameleon's form and nature. 
" A stranger animal," cries one, 
" Sure never lived beneath the sun : 



56 SELECT EXTRACTS FOR RECITATION. 

" A lizard's body lean and long, 
" A fish's head, a serpent's tongue, 
" Its foot with triple claw disjoined ; 
" And what a length of tail behind ! 

" How slow its pace ! and then its hue 

" Who ever saw so fine a blue !" 

" Hold there !" the other quick replies, 
" 'Tis green — I saw it with these eyes, 
" As late with open mouth it lay, 
" And warmed it in the sunny ray ; 
" Stretched at its ease the beast I viewed, 
" And saw it eat the air for food." 

" I've seen it, sir, as well as you, 
" And must again affirm it blue. 
" At leisure I the beast surveyed, 
" Extended in the cooling shade." 

" 'Tis green, 'tis green, sir, I assure ye " — 
" Green ! " cries the other in a fury — 
" Why, sir, — d'ye think I've lost my eyes?" 
" 'Twere no great loss," the friend replies ; 
" For, if they always serve you thus, 
" You'll find 'em but of little use." 

So high at last the contest rose, 
From words they almost came to blows : 

When luckily came by a third 

To him the question they referred ; 
And begged he'd tell 'em, if he knew, 
Whether the thing was green or blue. 

" Sirs," cries the umpire, " cease your pother, 
" The creature's neither one nor t'other, 
" I caught the animal last night, 
" And viewed it o'er by candlelight : 

" I marked it well — 'twas black as jet- 

" You stare — but, sirs, I've got it yet, 
" And can produce it." — " Pray, sir, do : 
" I'll lay my life the thing is blue." 
" And I'll be sworn, that when you've seen 
" The reptile, you'll pronounce him green." 
" Well then, at once to end the doubt," 
Replies the man, " I'll turn him out : 
" And when before your eyes I've set him, 
" If you don't find him black, I'll eat him." 



SELECT EXTRACTS FOR RECITATION. 57 

He said; then full before their sight 
Produced the beast, and lo ! — 'twas white. 

Merrick. 



i . RODERICK DHU S VINDICATION OF THE PREDATORY HABITS 

OF HIS CLAN. 

•Saxon, from yonder mountain high, 
I marked thee send delighted eye, 
Far to the south and east, where lay, 
Extended in succession gay, 
Deep waving fields and pastures green, 
With gentle slopes and groves between : — 
These fertile plains, that softened vale, 
Were once the birthright of the Gael ; 
The stranger came with iron hand, 
And from our fathers reft the land. 
"Where dwell we now I see, rudely swell 
Crag over crag, and fell o'er fell. 
• Ask we this savage hill we tread 
For fattened steer or household bread ; 
Ask we for food these shingles dry, 
And well the mountain might reply, — 
" To you, as to your sires of yore, 
" Belong the target and claymore ! 
" I give you shelter in my breast, 
" Your own good blades must win the rest. — 
" Pent in this fortress of the north, 
" Thinkst thou we will not sally forth, 
" To spoil the spoiler as we may, 
" And from the robber rend the prey ? 
" Ay, by my soul ! — While on yon plain 
" The Saxon rears one shock of grain ; 
" While, of ten thousand herds, there strays 
" But one along yon river's maze, — 
" The Gael, of plain and river heir, 
" Shall, with strong hand, redeem Ms share." 

Scott. 



c 2 



SELECT EXTRACTS FOR RECITATION. 



8. THE STREET MUSICIAN. 

An Orpheus! an Orpheus! — he works on the crowd. 
He sways them with harmony merry and loud ; 
He fills with his power all their hearts to the brim — 
Was aught ever heard like his fiddle and him ? 

What an eager assembly ! what an empire is this ! 
The weary have life, and the hungry have bliss ; 
The mourner is cheered, and the anxious have rest ; 
And the guilt-burthened soul is no longer opprest. 

That errand-bound 'prentice was passing in haste — 
What matter ! he's caught — and his time runs to waste — 
The newsman is stopped, though he stops on the fret, 
And the half-breathless lamplighter — he's in the net ! 

The porter sits down on the weight which he bore ; 
The lass with her barrow wheels hither her store ; — 
If a thief could be here, he might pilfer at ease ; 
She sees the musician, 'tis all that she sees ! 

That tall man, a giant in bulk and in height, 
Not an inch of his body is free from delight ; 
Can he keep himself still, if he would ? oh, not he ! 
The music stirs in him like wind through a tree. 

Mark that cripple, — but little would tempt him to try 
To dance to the strain and to fling his crutch by ! — 
That mother, whose spirit in fetters is bound, 
While she dandles the babe in her arms to the sound. 

Now, coaches and chariots roar on like a stream ; 
Here are twenty souls happy as souls in a dream : 
They are deaf to your murmurs — they care not for you, 
Nor what ye are flying, nor what ye pursue ! 

Wordsworth. 



9. THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB. 

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, 
And Ins cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ; 
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea. 
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. 



SELECT EXTRACTS FOR RECITATION. 59 

Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, 
That host with their banners at sunset were seen : 
Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, 
That host on the morrow lay withered and strown. 

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, 
And breathed in the face of the foe as he past ; 
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, 
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still ! 

And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, 
But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride : 
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, 
And cold as the spray of the rock -beating surf. 

And there lay the rider distorted and pale, 
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail ; 
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, 
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. 

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, 
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ; 
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, 
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord ! 

Byron. 



10. AN EPISTLE TO JOSEPH HILL. 

Dear Joseph — five and twenty years ago — 
Alas how time escapes ! — 'tis even so — 
With frequent intercourse, and always sweet, 
And always friendly, we were wont to cheat 
A tedious hour — and now we never meet ! 
As some grave gentleman in Terence says 
('Twas therefore much the same in ancient days), 
Good lack, we know not what to-morrow brings — 
Strange fluctuation of all human things ! 
True. Changes will befall, and friends may part, 
But distance only cannot change the heart : 
And, were I called to prove the assertion true, 
One proof should serve — a reference to you. 

Whence comes it, then, that in the wane of life, 
Though nothing have occurred to kindle strife, 



60 SELECT EXTRACTS FOR RECITATION. 

We find the friends we fancied we had won, 
Though numerous once, reduced to few or none ? 
Can gold grow worthless, that has stood the touch ? 
No ; gold they seemed, but they were never such. 

Horatio's servant once, with bow and cringe, 
Swinging the parlour-door upon its hinge, 
Dreading a negative, and overawed 
Lest he should trespass, begged to go abroad. 
Go, fellow! — whither? — turning short about — 
Nay. Stay at home — you're always going out. 
'Tis but a step, sir, just at the street's end. — 
For what ? — An please you, sir, to see a friend. — 
A friend ! Horatio cried, and seemed to start — 
Yea marry shalt thou, and with all my heart. — 
And fetch my cloak ; for, though the night be raw, 
I'll see him too — the first I ever saw. 

I knew the man, and knew his nature mild, 
And was his plaything often when a child ; 
But somewhat at that moment pinched him close, 
Else he was seldom bitter or morose. 
Perhaps, his confidence just then betrayed, 
His grief might prompt him with the speech he made ; 
Perhaps 'twas mere good humour gave it birth, 
The harmless play of pleasantry and mirth. 
Howe'er it was, his language, in my mind, 
Bespoke at least a man that knew mankind. 

But not to moralize too much, and strain 
To prove an evil, of which all complain 
(I hate long arguments verbosely spun), 
One story more, dear Hill, and I have done. 
Once on a time an emperor, a wise man, 
No matter where, in China or Japan, 
Decreed that whosoever should offend 
Against the well-known duties of a friend, 
Convicted once should ever after wear 
But half a coat, and show his bosom bare. 
The punishment importing this, no doubt, 
That all was naught within, and all found out. 

happy Britain ! we have not to fear 
Such hard and arbitrary measure here ; 
Else, could a law, like that which I relate, 
Once have the sanction of our triple state, 



SELECT EXTRACTS FOR RECITATION. Gl 

Some few, that I have known in days of old, 
Would run most dreadful risk of catching cold ; 
While you, my friend, whatever wind should blow, 
Might traverse England safely to and fro, 
An honest man, close-buttoned to the chin, 
Broadcloth without, and a warm heart within. 

Cowper. 



11. SCENE AFTER THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 

Alp wandered on, along the beach, 

Till within the range of a carbine's reach 

Of the leaguered wall ; but they saw him not, 

Or how could he 'scape from the hostile shot ? 

Did traitors lurk in the Christians' hold ? 

Were then* hands grown stiff, or their hearts waxed cold ? 

I know not, in sooth ; but from yonder wall 

There flashed no fire, and there hissed no ball, 

Though he stood beneath the bastion's frown, 

That flanked the seaward gate of the town ; 

Though he heard the sound and could almost tell 

The sullen words of the sentinel, 

As his measured step on the stone below 

Clanked, as he paced it to and fro ; 

And he saw the lean dogs beneath the wall 

Hold o'er the dead their carnival, 

Gorging and growling o'er carcass and limb ; 

They were too busy to bark at him ! 

From a Tartar's skull they had stripped the flesh, 

As ye peel the fig when its fruit is fresh ; 

And their white tusks crunched o'er the whiter skull, 

As it slipped through their jaws when their edge grew dull, 

As they lazily mumbled the bones of the dead, 

When they scarce could rise from the spot where they fed; 

So well had they broken a lingering fast 

With those who had fallen for that night's repast. 

And Alp knew, by the turbans that rolled on the sand, 

The foremost of these were the best of his band. 

The scalps were in the wild dog's maw, 

The hair was tangled round his jaw. 

But close by the shore, on the edge of the gulf, 

There sat a vulture flapping a wolf, 



62 SELECT EXTRACTS FOR RECITATION. 

That had stolen from the hills, but kept away, 
Scared by the dogs, from the human prey ; 
But he seized on his share of a steed that lay, 
Picked by the birds on the sands of the bay ! 

Alp turned him from the sickening sight : 
Never had shaken his nerves in fight ; 
But he better could brook to behold the dying, 
Deep in the tide of their warm blood lying, 
Scorched with the death-thirst, and writhing in vain, 
Than the perishing dead who are past all pain. 
There is something of pride in the perilous hour, 
Whate'er be the shape in which death may lower ; 
For Fame is there to say who bleeds, 
And Honour's eye on daring deeds ! 
But when all is past, it is humbling to tread 
O'er the weltering field of the tombless dead, 
And see worms of the earth, and fowls of the ah', 
Beasts of the forest, all gathering there ; 
All regarding man as their prey, 
All rejoicing in his decay ! Byron. 



12. NAVAL ODE. 

Ye Mariners of England ! 

Who guard our native seas, 

Whose flag has braved a thousand years 

The battle and the breeze, 

Your glorious standard launch again, 

To match another foe, 

And sweep through the deep 

While the stormy tempests blow ; 

While the battle rages long and loud, 

And the stormy tempests blow. 

The spirits of your fathers 

Shall start from every wave ! 

For the deck it was their field of fame, 

And Ocean was their grave ; 

Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell, 

Your manly hearts shall glow, 

As ye sweep through the deep, 

While the stormy tempests blow ; 



SELECT EXTRACTS FOR RECITATION. 63 

While the battle rages long and loud, 
And the stormy tempests blow. 

Britannia needs no bulwarks, 

No towers along the steep ; 

Her march is o'er the mountain- waves, 

Her home is on the deep : 

With thunders from her native oak, 

She quells the floods below, 

As they roar on the shore, 

When the stormy tempests blow ; 

WTien the battle rages long and loud, 

And the stormy tempests blow. 

The meteor-flag of England 

Shall yet terrific burn, 

Till danger's troubled night depart, 

And the star of peace return. 

Then, then, ye ocean-warriors ! 

Our song and feast shall flow 

To the fame of your name, 

When the storm has ceased to blow ; 

When the fiery fight is heard no more, 

And the storm has ceased to blow. 

Campbell. 



13. THE TOWN AND COUNTRY MOUSE. 

Once on a time, (so runs the fable,) 
A country mouse, right hospitable, 
Received a town mouse at his board, 
Just as farmer might a lord : 
A frugal mouse, upon the whole, 
Yet loved his friend, and had a soul, 
Knew what was handsome, and would do 't 
On just occasion, " coute qui covM." 
He brought him bacon, nothing lean, 
Pudding that might have pleased a dean ; 
Cheese, such as men in Suffolk make, 
But wished it Stilton for his sake ; 
Yet to his guest though no way sparing, 
He ate himself the rind and paring. 



64 SELECT EXTRACTS FOR RECITATION. 

Our courtier scarce could touch a bit. 



But showed his breeding and his wit ; 

He did his best to seem to eat, 

And cried, " I vow you're mighty neat : 

" But then, my friend, this savage scene ! 

" For Heaven's sake, come, live with men. 

" Consider, mice, like men, must die, 

" Both small and great, both you and I : 

" Then spend your life in joy and sport. — 

" This doctrine, friend, I learned at court." 

The veriest hermit in the nation, 

May yield, Heaven knows, to strong temptation. 

Away they come, through thick and thin, 
To a tall house near Lincoln's Inn : 
'Twas on the night of a debate, 
When all their lordships had sat late. 

Behold the place, where, if a poet 
Shined in description, he might show it ; 
Tell how the moonbeam trembling falls, 
And tips with silver all the walls ; 
Palladian walls, Venetian doors, 
Grotesco roofs, and stucco floors : 
But let it, in a word, be said, 
The moon was up, and men a-bed ; 
The guests withdrawn, had left the treat, 
And down the mice sat, tete-a-tete. 

Our courtier walks from dish to dish ; 
Tastes for his friend of fowl and fish ; 
Tells all their names, lays down the law, 
" Que ca est bon! ah! goutez ca. 
" That jelly's rich, this malmsey's healing; 
" Pray dip your whiskers and your tail in.'' 
Was ever such a happy swain ? 
He stuffs, and swills, and stuffs again. 
" I'm quite ashamed — 'tis mighty rude 
" To eat so much — but all 's so good ! 
" I have a thousand thanks to give — 
" My lord alone knows how to live." 
No sooner said, but from the hall 
Rush chaplain, butler, dogs, and all : 
" A rat ! a rat ! clap to the door." — 
The cat came bouncing on the floor ! 



SELECT EXTRACTS FOR RECITATION. G5 

Oh ! for the heart of Homer's mice, 

Or gods to save them in a trice ! 

(It was by Providence, they think, 

For your vile stucco has no chink.) 

" An 't please your honour," quoth the peasant, 

" This same dessert is not so pleasant : 

" Give me again my hollow tree, 

" A crust of bread, and liberty." Pope. 



14.-^LOVE OF COUNTRY. 

Breathes there a man, with soul so dead, 
Who never to himself hath said, 

" This is my own, my native land !" 
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, 
As home his footsteps he hath turned, 

From wandering on a foreign strand ! 
If such there breathe, go, mark him well ; 
For him no minstrel-raptures swell : 
High though his titles, proud his name, 
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ; 
Despite those titles, power, and pelf, 
The wretch, concentered all in self, 
Living, shall forfeit fair renown, 
And, doubly dying, shall go down 
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, 
Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung. 

Caledonia ! stern and wild, 

Meet nurse for a poetic child ! 

Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, 

Land of the mountain and the flood, 

Land of my sires ! what mortal hand 

Can e'er untie the filial band, 

That knits me to thy rugged strand ! 

Still as I view each well-known scene, 

Think what is now, and what hath been, 

Seems as to me of all bereft, 

Sole friends thy woods and streams are left ; 

And thus I love thee better still 

Even in extremity of ill. Scott. 



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15. ODE TO ELOQUENCE. 

Heard ye those loud contending waves 
That shook Cecropia's pillared state? 

Saw ye the mighty from their graves 
Look up, and tremble at her fate ? 

Who shall calm the angry storm ? 
Who the mighty task perform ; 

And bid the raging tumult cease ? 
See the son of Hermes rise, 
With syren tongue and speaking eyes, 

Hush the noise, and soothe to peace. 

See the olive branches waving 

O'er missus' winding stream, 
Their lovely limbs the Naiads laving, 

The Muses smiling by, supreme ! 

See the nymphs and swains advancing, 
To harmonious measures dancing : 

Grateful Io Pseans rise 
To thee, Power ! who canst inspire 
Soothing words — or words of fire, 

And shookst thy plumes in Attic skies ! 

Lo ! from the regions of the north 
The reddening storm of battle pours, 

Rolls along the trembling earth, 
Fastens on the Olynthian towers. 

" Where rests the sword ? where sleep the brave ? 
" Awake ! Cecropia's ally save 

" From the fury of the blast ; 
" Burst the storm on Phocis' walls ! 
" Rise ! or Greece for ever falls, 

" Up, or Freedom breathes her last !" 

The jarring states, obsequious now, 

View the Patriot's hand on high ; 
Thunder gathering on his brow, 

Lightning flashing from his eye. 

Borne by the tide of words along, 

One voice, one mind, inspire the throng ! — 



SELECT EXTRACTS FOR RECITATION. 67 

" To arms ! to arms ! to arms ! " they cry, — 
" Grasp the shield, and draw the sword, 
Lead us to Philippi's lord, 

Let us conquer him, or die ! " 

Ah, Eloquence ! thou wast undone, 

Wast from thy native country driven, 
When tyranny eclipsed the sun, 

And blotted out the stars of heaven ! 

When Liberty from Greece withdrew, 
And o'er the Adriatic flew 

To where the Tiber pours his urn — 
She struck the rude Tarpeian rock, 
Sparks were kindled by the stroke — 

Again thy fires began to burn ! 

Now shining forth, thou madest compliant 

The conscript fathers to thy charms, 
Eoused the world-bestriding giant, 

Sinking fast in slavery's arms ! 

I see thee stand by Freedom's fane, 
Pouring the persuasive strain, 

Giving vast conceptions birth : 
Hark ! I hear thy thunders sound, 
Shake the forum round and round, 

Shake the pillars of the earth ! 

First-born of Liberty divine ! 

Put on Religion's bright array, 
Speak ! and the starless grave shall shine 

The portal of eternal day. 

Rise, kindling with the orient beam, 
Let Calvary's hill inspire the theme, 

Unfold the garments roll'd in blood ! 
Oh, touch the heart, touch all its chords 
With all the omnipotence of words, 

And point the way to heaven — to God ! Carey. 



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16. LOCHINVAR. 

0, young Lockinvar is come out of the West, 
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best ; 
And save his good broad-sword he weapon had none, 
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. ,. 
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, 
There never was knight like the young Loehinvar. 

He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone, 
He swam the Eske river where ford there was none ; 
But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, 
The bride had consented, the gallant came late : 
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, 
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Loehinvar. 

So boldly he entered the Netherby hall, 

Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all : 

Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, 

(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,) 

" come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, 

" Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Loehinvar ?" — 

" I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied ; — 

" Love swells like the Sorway, but ebbs like its tide — 

" And now am I come with this lost love of mine, 

" To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 

" There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, 

" That would gladly be bride to the young Loehinvar." — 

The bride kissed the goblet ; the knight took it up, 
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. 
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, 
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. 
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, — 
" Now tread we a measure !" said young Loehinvar. 

So stately his form, and so lovely her face, 

That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; 

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, 

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume ; 

And the bridemaidens whispered, " 'Twere better by far 

" To have matched our fair cousin with young Loehinvar." 



SELECT EXTRACTS FOR RECITATION. 69 

One touch to her hand, and one word in her car, 

When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near ; 

So light to the croup the fair lady he swung, 

So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! 

" She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur ; 

" They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar. 

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan ; 

Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode, and they ran ; 

There was racing, and chasing, on Cannobie Lee, 

But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. 

So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, 

Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ? 

Sir W. Scott. 



17. LORD ULLXn's DAUGHTER. 

A chieftain, to the Highlands bound, 
Cries, " Boatman, do not tarry ! 

" And I'll give thee a silver pound, 
" To row us o'er the ferry." — 

" Now, who be ye would cross Loch-Gyle, 
" Tins dark and stormy water?" 

" ! I'm the chief of Ulva's Isle, 
" And this Lord Ullin's daughter. — 

" And fast before her father's men 
" Three days we've fled together, 

" For should he find us in the glen, 
" My blood would stain the heather. 

" His horsemen hard behind us ride ; 

" Should they our steps discover, 
" Then who will cheer my bonny bride, 

" When they have slain her lover?" — 

Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, 
" I'll go, my chief — I'm ready : — 

" It is not for your silver bright, 
" But for your winsome lady : 

" And, by my word ! the bonny bird 
" In danger shall not tarry ; 



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" So, though the waves are raging white, 
" I'll row you o'er the ferry." — 

By this the storm grew loud apace, 

The water- wraith was shrieking ; 
And, in the scowl of heaven, each face 

Grew dark as they were speaking. 

But still as wilder blew the wind, 

And as the night grew drearer, 
Adown the glen rode armed men, 

Their trampling sounded nearer. — 

" haste thee, haste ! " the lady cries, 

" Though tempests roimd us gather, 
" I'll meet the raging of the skies, 

" But not an angry father." — 

The boat has left a stormy land, 

A stormy sea before her, — 
When, oh ! too strong for human hand, 

The tempest gathered o'er her. — 

And still they rowed amidst the roar 

Of waters fast prevailing : 
Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore. 

His wrath was changed to wailing. — 

For sore dismayed, through storm and shade, 

His child he did discover : — 
One lovely hand she stretched for aid, 

And one was round her lover. 

" Come back ! come back ! " he cried in grief, 

" Across this stormy water : 
" And I'll forgive your Highland chief. — 

" My daughter! oh, my daughter!" — 

'Twas vain : the loud waves lashed the shore, 

Eetum or aid preventing : — 
The waters wild went o'er his child, — 

And he was left lamenting. Campbell. 



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18. A PORTION OF GRAY'S BARD. 

Ruin seize thee, ruthless king ! 

Confusion on thy banners wait ; 

Though fanned by conquest's crimson wing, 

They mock the air with idle state. 

Helm nor hauberk's twisted mail, 

Nor e'en thy virtues, tyrant ! shall avail 

To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, 

From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears ! 

Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride 

Of the first Edward scattered wild dismay, 

As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side 

He wound with toilsome march his long array. 

Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance : 

To arms, cried Mortimer, and couched his quivering lance. 

On a rock, whose haughty brow 

Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, 

Robed in the sable garb of woe, 

With haggard eyes the poet stood ; 

(Loose his beard, and hoary hair 

Streamed like a meteor to the troubled air,) 

And with a master's hand and poet's fire 

Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre. 

Hark how each giant oak and desert cave 

Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath ! 

O'er thee, king, their hundred arms they wave, 

Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe ; 

Vocal no more since Cambria's fatal day 

To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay. 

Cold is Cadwallo's tongue, 

That hushed the stormy main, 

Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed, 

Mountains ! ye mourn in vain. 

Modred, whose magic song 

Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topped head. 

On dreary Arvon's shore they lie, 

Smeared with gore, and ghastly pale ; 

Far, far aloof the affrighted ravens sail, 

The famished eagle screams and passes by. 



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Dear lost companions of my tuneful art, 

Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes. 

Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart. 

Ye died amidst your dying country's cries ! — 

No more I weep. They do not sleep : 

On yonder cliffs, a grisly band, 

I see them sit ; they linger yet, 

Avengers of their native land ; 

With me in dreadful harmony they join, 

And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line. 

Weave the warp and weave the woof, 

The winding sheet of Edward's race ; 

Give ample scope and verge enough 

The characters of hell to trace. 

Mark the year and mark the night 

When Severn shall re-echo with affright 

The shrieks of death through Berkley's roofs that ring, 

Shrieks of an agonizing king ! 

She- wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs 

That tearst the bowels of thy mangled mate, 

From thee be born who o'er thy country hangs 

The scourge of Heaven. What terrors round him wait ! 

Amazement in his van, with flight combined, 

And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind. Gray. 



19.- 

My liege, I did deny no prisoners. 

But, I remember, when the fight was done, 

WTien I was dry with rage and extreme toil, 

Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, 

Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dressed, 

Fresh as a bridegroom, and his chin, new-reaped, 

Showed like a stubble-land at harvest-home ; 

He was perfumed like a milliner ; 

And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held 

A pouncet-box, which ever and anon 

He gave his nose, and took 't away again. 

. . . . and still he smiled and talked ; 
And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, 



SELECT EXTRACTS FOR RECITATION. 73 

He called them untaught knaves, unmannerly, 

To bring a slovenly, unhandsome corse, 

Betwixt the wind and his nobility. 

With many holiday and lady terms 

He questioned me ; among the rest, demanded 

My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf. 

I then, all smarting, with my wounds being cold, 

To be so pestered with a popinjay, 

Out of my grief and my impatience, 

Answered neglectingly, I know not what ; 

He should, or should not ; — for he made me mad, 

To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, 

And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman 

Of guns, and drums, and wounds (Heaven save the mark !) 

And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth 

Was spermaceti for an inward bruise ; 

And that it was great pity, so it was, 

That villanous saltpetre should be digged 

Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, 

Which many a good tall fellow had destroyed 

So cowardly ; and, but for these vile guns, 

He would himself have been a soldier. 

This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord, 

I answered indirectly, as I said ; 

And, I beseech you, let not this report 

Come current for an accusation, 

Betwixt my love and your high majesty. Shakspeare. 



20. — ode on Cecilia's day. 

From harmony, from heavenly harmony, 

This universal frame began : 
WTien nature underneath a heap 
Of jarring atoms lay, 

And could not heave her head, 
The tuneful voice was heard from high, 

" Arise, ye more than dead !" 
Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry, 

In order to their stations leap, 
And Music's power obey. 



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From harmony, from heavenly harmony, 

This universal frame began ; 

From harmony to harmony, 
Through all the compass of the notes it can, 
The diapason closing full in man. 

What passion cannot music raise and quell ? 
When Jubal struck the corded shell, 

His listening brethren stood around, 
And, wondering, on their faces fell 

To worship that celestial sound. 
Less than a God they thought there could not dwell 

Within the hollow of that shell, 

That spoke so sweetly and so well. 
What passion cannot music raise and quell ? 

The trumpet's loud clangour 

Excites us to arms ; 
With shrill notes of anger, 

And mortal alarms. 
The double, double, double beat 

Of the thundering drum, 

Cries, Hark ! the foes come : 
Charge, charge ! 'tis too late to retreat. 

The soft complaining flute, 

In dying notes discovers 

The woes of hapless lovers ; 
Whose dirge is whispered by the warbling lute. 

Sharp violins proclaim 

Their jealous pangs, and desperation, 

Fury, frantic indignation, 
Depths of pain and height of passion, 
For the fair disdainful dame. 

But, oh ! what art can teach, 
What human voice can reach, 
The sacred organ's praise ! 

Notes inspiring holy love, 

Notes that wing their heavenly ways 

To mend the choirs above. 

Orpheus could lead the savage race ; 

And trees uprooted left their place, 

Sequacious of the lyre ; 



SELECT EXTRACTS FOR RECITATION. 75 

But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher ; 
"When to her organ vocal breath was given, 
An angel heard, and straigh't appeared, 
Mistaking earth for heaven. Dryden. 



21. BRUTUS'S HARANGUE ON THE DEATH OF C^SAR. 

Romans, Countrymen, and Lovers ! — hear me for my cause ; and 
be silent that you may hear. Believe me for mine honour ; and 
have respect to mine honour, that you may believe. Censure me 
in your wisdom ; and awake your senses, that you may the better 

judge. If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of 

Caesar's, to him I say, that Brutus' love to Caesar was no less than 
his. If, then, that friend demand why Brutus rose against Caesar, 
this is my answer : Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved 
Rome more. Had you rather Caesar were living, and die all slaves ; 
than that Caesar were dead, to live all freemen ? — As Caesar loved 
me, I weep for him ; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it ; as he was 
valiant, I honour him ; but as he was ambitious, I slew him. There 
are tears for his love, joy for his fortune, honour for his valour, and 
death for his ambition. — Who 's here so base, that would be a bond- 
man ? if any, speak ; for him have I offended. Who 's here so rude, 
that would not be a Roman ? if any, speak ; for him have I offended. 
Who 's here so vile, that will not love his country ? if any, speak ; 
for him have I offended. 1 pause for a reply. 

None ! then none have I offended. I have done no more to 
Caesar, than you should do to Brutus. The question of his death 
is enrolled in the capitol; his glory not extenuated wherein he 
was worthy ; nor his offences enforced, for which he suffered death. 

Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony ; who, though 
he had no hand in his death, shall receive the benefit of his dying, 
a place in the commonwealth ; as, which of you shall not ? — With 

this I depart that as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, 

I have the same dagger for myself, when it shall please my country 
to need my death. Shakspeare. 



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22. — marc Antony's address over the body of cesar. 

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears ; 

I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. 

The evil that men do lives after them ; 

The good is oft interred with their bones ; 

So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus 

Hath told you Caesar was ambitious : 

If it were so, it was a grievous fault; 

And grievously hath Caesar answered it. 

Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest, 

(For Brutus is an honourable man ; 

So are they all, all honourable men ;) 

Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. 

He was my friend, faithful and just to me : 

But Brutus says, he was ambitious ; 

And Brutus is an honourable man. 

He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 

Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill : 

Did this in Caesar seem ambitious ? 

When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept : 

Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: 

Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; 

And Brutus is an honourable man. 

You all did see that, on the LupercaL, 

I thrice presented him a kingly crown, 

Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ? 

Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; 

And, sure, he is an honourable man. 

I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, 

But here I am to speak what I do know. 

You all did love him once, not without cause ; 

What cause withholds you then to mourn for him ? 

judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts, 

And men have lost their reason ! — Bear with me ; 

My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, 

And I must pause till it come back to me. 

But yesterday, the word of Caesar might 

Have stood against the world : now lies he there, 

And none so poor to do him reverence. 

masters ! if I were disposed to stir 



SELECT EXTRACTS FOR RECITATION. 77 

Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 

T should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, 

Who, you all know, are honourable men : 

I will not do them wrong ; I rather choose 

To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you, 

Than I will wrong such honourable men. 

If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. 

You all do know this mantle : I remember 

The first time ever Csesar put it on ; 

'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent ; 

That day he overcame the Nervii : — 

Look ! in this place ran Cassius' dagger through : 

See, what a rent the envious Casca made : 

Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabbed ; 

And, as he plucked his cursed steel away, 

Mark how the blood of Csesar followed it, 

As rushing out of doors, to be resolved 

If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no ; 

For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel : 

Judge, you gods, how dearly Csesar loved him ! 

This, this was the unkindest cut of all : 

For when the noble Csesar saw him stab, 

Ingratitude, more strong than traitor's arms, 

Quite vanquished him : then burst his mighty heart ; 

And, in his mantle muffling up his face, 

Even at the base of Pompey's statue, 

Which all the while ran blood, great Csesar fell. 

0, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! 

Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, 

Whilst bloody treason flourished over us. 

0, now you weep ; and, I perceive, you feel 

The dint of pity : these are gracious drops. 

Kind souls, what, weep you, when you but behold 

Our Csesar's vesture wounded ? Look you here, 

Here is himself, marred, as you see, with traitors. 

Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up 

To such a sudden flood of mutiny. 

They that have done this deed are honourable ; 

What private griefs they have, alas ! I know not, 

That made them do it ; they are wise and honourable, 

And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. 

I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts ; 



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I am no orator, as Brutus is ; 

But as you know me all, a plain blunt man, 

That love my friends ; and that they know full well 

That gave me public leave to speak of him. 

For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, 

Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, 

To stir men's blood : I only speak right on ; 

I tell you that, which you yourselves do know ; 

Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths. 

And bid them speak for me : but were I Brutus, 

And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 

Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue 

In every wound of Caesar, that should move 

The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny. 

Shakspeare. 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 



1. VIRTUE. 



Virtue is of intrinsic value, and of indispensable obligation ; 
not the creature of will, bnt necessary and immutable ; not a 
mode of sensation, but everlasting truth ; not dependent on 
power, but the guide of all power. Virtue is the foundation 
of honour and esteem — the source of all beauty, order, and 
happiness in nature. It is what confers value on all the other 
endowments and qualities of a reasonable being, to which they 
ought to be subservient, and without which, the more eminent 
they are, the more hideous deformities they become. The use 
of it is not confined to any one stage of our existence, or to 
any particular situation we can be in, but it reaches through 
all the periods and circumstances of our being. Many of the 
endowments and talents we now possess, and of which we are 
too apt to be proud, will cease entirely with the present state ; 
but virtue will be our ornament and dignity in every future 
state to which we may be removed. Beauty and wit will die, 
learning vanish away, all the arts of life be soon forgotten, 
but virtue will remain for ever. This unites us to the whole 
rational creation, and fits us for conversing with any order of 
superior natures. It procures us the approbation and love of 
all wise and good beings, and renders them our allies and 
friends. But what is of unspeakably greater consequence, it 
makes God our friend, assimilates and unites our minds to his, 
and engages his almighty power in our defence. Superior 
beings of all ranks are bound by it no less than ourselves. It 
has the same authority in all worlds. The further any being 
is advanced in excellence, the greater is his attachment to it, 
and the more he is under its influence. To say no more, it is 
the law of the whole universe ; it stands first in the estimation 
of the Deity ; its original is nature. 



80 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

Such is the importance of virtue. Of what consequence, 
therefore, is it that we practise it ? There is no argument or 
motive at all fitted to influence a reasonable mind, which does 
not call us to this. One virtuous disposition of soul is prefer- 
able to the greatest natural accomplishments, and of more 
value than all the treasures of the world. If you are wise, 
then, study virtue, and contemn every thing that can come in 
competition with it. Kemember that nothing else deserves 
one anxious thought or wish. Eemember that this alone is 
honour, glory, wealth, and happiness. Secure this, and you 
secure everything. Lose this, and all is lost. Price. 



2. — WORK, 



There is a perennial nobleness, and even sacredness, in work. 
Were he ever so benighted, or forgetful of his high calling, 
there is always hope in a man that actually and earnestly 
works ; in idleness alone is there perpetual despair. Consider 
how, even in the meanest sort of labour, the whole soul of a 
man is composed into real harmony. He bends himself with 
free valour against his task; and doubt, desire, sorrow, re- 
morse, indignation, despair itself, shrink murmuring far off 
into their caves. The glow of labour in him is a purifying 
fire, wherein all poison is burnt up ; and of sour smoke itself, 
there is made a bright and blessed flame. 

Destiny has no other way of cultivating us. A formless 
chaos, once set revolving, grows round, ranges itself into strata, 
and is no longer a chaos, but a compacted world. What would 
become of the earth did it cease to revolve ? So long as it 
revolves, all inequalities disperse themselves, all irregularities 
incessantly become regular. Of an idle, unrevolving man, 
destiny can make nothing more than a mere enamelled vessel 
of dishonour, let her spend on him what colouring she may. 
Let the idle think of this. Blessed is he who has found his 
work ; let him ask no other blessedness ; he has a life-purpose. 
Labour is life. From the heart of the worker rises the ce- 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 81 

lestial force, breathed into him by Almighty God, awakening 
him to all nobleness, to all knowledge. 

Man, son of heaven ! is there not in thine inmost heart a 
spirit of active method, giving thee no rest till thou unfold it ? 
Disorder is thy enemy; attack him swiftly; make him the 
subject of Divinity, intelligence, and thee. Complain not. 
Look up, wearied brother. See thy fellow-workmen surviv- 
ing through eternity — the sacred band of immortals ! 

Thomas Carlyle. 



d. THE BALANCE OF HAPPINESS EQUAL. 

An extensive contemplation of human affairs will lead us to 
this conclusion, That, among the different conditions and ranks 
of men, the balance of happiness is preserved in a great mea- 
sure equal ; and that the high and the low, the rich and the 
poor, approach, in point of real enjoyment, much nearer to 
each other, than is commonly imagined. In the lot of man, 
mutual compensations, both of pleasure and of pain, universally 
take place. Providence never intended, that any state here 
should be either completely happy, or entirely miserable. If 
the feelings of pleasure are more numerous, and more lively, in 
the higher departments of life, such also are those of pain. If 
the poor are confined to a more narrow circle, yet within that 
circle lie most of those natural satisfactions, which, after all 
the refinements of art, are found to be the most genuine and 
true. — In a state, therefore, where there is neither so much 
to be coveted on the one hand, nor to be dreaded on the other, 
as at first appears, how submissive ought we to be to the 
disposal of Providence ! How temperate in our desires and 
pursuits ! How much more attentive to preserve our virtue, 
and to improve our minds, than to gain the doubtful and equi- 
vocal advantages of worldly prosperity I Blair. 



d2 



82 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

4. THE INTERVIEW OF RASSELAS, PRINCE OP ABYSSINIA, HIS 

SISTER NEKAYAH, AND IMLAC, WITH THE HERMIT. 

They came on the third day, by the direction of the peasants, 
to the hermit's cell : it was a cavern in the side of a mountain, 
overshadowed with palm-trees. The hermit sat on a bench 
at the door, to enjoy the coolness of the evening. On one 
side lay a book with pens and paper, on the other mechanical 
instruments of various kinds. 

They saluted him with great respect, which he returned 
like a man not unaccustomed to the forms of courts. " My 
children," said he, "if you have lost your way, you shall be 
willingly supplied with such conveniences for the night as 
this cavern will afford. I have all that nature requires, and 
you will not expect delicacies in a hermit's cell." They thanked 
him ; and, entering, were pleased with the neatness and regu- 
larity of the place. His discourse was cheerful without levity, 
and pious without enthusiasm. 

At last Imlac began thus : — "I do not now wonder that your 
reputation is so far extended ; we have heard at Cairo of your 
wisdom, and came hither to implore your direction for this 
young man and maiden in the choice of life." 

"To him that lives well," answered the hermit, "every 
form of life is good ; nor can I give any other rule for choice, 
than to remove from all apparent evil." 

" He will remove most certainly from evil," said the prince, 
" who shall devote himself to that solitude which you have 
recommended by your example." 

"I have indeed lived fifteen years in solitude," said the 
hermit, " but have no desire that my example should gain any 
imitators. In my youth I professed arms, and was raised by 
degrees to the highest military rank. I have traversed wide 
countries at the head of my troops, and seen many battles and 
sieges. At last, being disgusted by the preferments of a younger 
officer, and feeling that my vigour was beginning to decay, I 
resolved to close my life in peace, having found the world full 
of snares, discord, and misery. I had once escaped from the 
pursuit of the enemy by the shelter of this cavern, and there- 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 83 

fore chose it for my final residence. I employed artificers to 
form it into chambers, and stored it with all that I was likely 
to want. 

" For some time after my retreat, I rejoiced like a tempest- 
beaten sailor at his entrance into the harbour, being delighted 
with the sndden change of the noise and hurry of war to still- 
ness and repose. When the pleasure of novelty went away, 
I employed my hours in examining the plants which grow in 
the valley, and the minerals which I collected from the rocks. 
But that inquiry is now grown tasteless and irksome. I have 
been for some time unsettled and distracted : my mind is 
disturbed with a thousand perplexities of doubt and vanities 
of imagination, which hourly prevail upon me, because I have 
no opportunities of relaxation or diversion. I am sometimes 
ashamed to think that I could not secure myself from vice, but 
by retiring from the exercise of virtue, and b^ia to suspect 
that I was rather impelled by resentment, than r l§tl by devotion, 
into solitude. My fancy riots in scenes of folly, and I lament 
that I have lost so much, and have gained so little. In soli- 
tude, if I escape the example of bad men, I want likewise the 
counsel and conversation of the good. I have been long com- 
paring the evils with the advantages of society, and resolve 
to return into the world to-morrow. The life of a solitary 
man will be certainly miserable, but not certainly devout." 

They heard his resolution with surprise, but, after a short 
pause, offered to conduct him to Cairo. He dug up a consider- 
able treasure which he had hid among the rocks, and accom- 
panied them to the city, on which, as he approached it, he 
gazed with rapture. Johnson's Easselas. 



5. OBSERVATION. 

A dervise was journeying alone in a desert, when two mer- 
chants suddenly met him. " You have lost a camel," said he to 
the merchants. " Indeed we have," they replied. " Was he not 
blind in his right eye, and lame in his left leg?" said the der- 
vise. "He was," replied the merchants. "And was he not 



84 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

loaded with honey on one side, and wheat on the other?" 
"Most certainly he was," they replied; "and, as you have 
seen him so lately, and marked him so particularly, you can 
in all probability conduct us to him." " My friends," said the 
dervise, "I have never seen your camel, nor ever heard of 
him, but from you." " A pretty story truly," said the mer- 
chants ; " but where are the jewels which formed a partbf his 
cargo?" " I have seen neither your camel nor your jewels," 
repeated the dervise. On this, they seized his person, and 
forthwith hurried him before the cadi, where, on the strictest 
search, nothing could be found upon him, nor could any evi- 
dence whatever be adduced, to convict him either of falsehood 
or of theft. They were about to proceed against him as a 
sorcerer, when the dervise with great calmness thus addressed 
the court. " I have been much amused with your surprise, 
and own that there has been some ground for your suspi- 
cions ; but I have lived long and alone, and I can find ample 
scope for observation even in a desert. I knew that I had 
crossed the track of a camel that had strayed from its owner, 
because I saw no mark of any human footstep on the same 
route ; I knew that the animal was blind of an eye, because it 
had cropped the herbage only on one side of its path, and that it 
was lame in one leg, from the faint impression which that par- 
ticular foot had produced upon the sand ; I concluded that the 
animal had lost one tooth, because, wherever it had grazed, 
a small tuft of herbage had been left uninjured in the centre 
of its bite. As to that which formed the burthen of the beast, 
the busy ants informed me, that it was corn on the one side, 
and the clustering flies, that it was honey on the other. 

Colton. — Lacon. 



-THE HILL OF SCIENCE. 



In that season of the year, when the serenity of the sky, the 
various fruits which cover the ground, the discoloured foliage 
of the trees, and all the sweet but fading graces of inspiring 
autumn open the mind to benevolence, and dispose it for con- 
templation, I was wandering in a beautiful and romantic coun- 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 85 

try, till curiosity began to give way to weariness ; and I sat 
me down on the fragment of a rock, overgrown with moss ; 
where the rustling of the falling leaves, the dashing of waters, 
and the hum of the distant city, soothed my mind into the 
most perfect tranquillity, and sleep insensibly stole upon me, as 
I was indulging the agreeable reveries, which the objects around 
me naturally inspired. 

I immediately found myself in a vast extended plain, in the 
middle of which arose a mountain, higher than I had before 
any conception of. It was covered with a multitude of people, 
chiefly youth ; many of whom pressed forwards with the live- 
liest expressions of ardour in their countenance, though the way 
was in many places steep and difficult. I observed, that those 
who had but just begun to climb the hill thought themselves 
not far from the top ; but, as they proceeded, new hills were 
continually rising to their view, and the summit of the highest 
they could before discern seemed but the foot of another, till 
the mountain at length appeared to lose itself in the clouds. 
As I was gazing on these things with astonishment, my good 
genius suddenly appeared : The mountain before thee, said he, 
is the Hill of Science. On the top is the Temple of Truth, 
whose head is above the clouds, and a veil of pure light covers 
her face. Observe the progress of her votaries ; be silent and 
attentive. 

I saw that the only regular approach to the mountain was 
by a gate, called the Gate of Languages. It was kept by a 
woman of a pensive and thoughtful appearance, whose lips 
were continually moving, as though she repeated something to 
herself. Her name was Memory. On entering this first en- 
closure, I was stunned with a confused murmur of jarring voices 
and dissonant sounds, which increased upon me to such a de- 
gree, that I was utterly confounded, and could compare the noise 
to nothing but the confusion of tongues at Babel. 

After contemplating these things, I turned my eyes towards 
the top of the mountain, where the air was always pure and 
exhilarating, the path shaded with laurels and other evergreens, 
and the effulgence which beamed from the face of the goddess 
seemed to shed a glory round her votaries. Happy, said I, 



86 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

are they who are permitted to ascend the mountain! — but 
while I was pronouncing this exclamation with uncommon 
ardour, I saw standing beside me a form of diviner features 
and a more benign radiance. Happier, said she, are those 
whom Virtue conducts to the mansions of Content ! What, 
said I, does Virtue then reside in the vale ? I am found, said 
she, in the vale, and I illuminate the mountain : I cheer the 
cottager at his toil, and inspire the sage at his meditation. I 
mingle in the crowd of cities, and bless the hermit in his cell. 
I have a temple in every heart that owns my influence, and 
to him that wishes for me I am already present. Science may 
raise you to eminence, but I alone can guide to felicity ! While 
the goddess was thus speaking, I stretched out my arms towards 
her with a vehemence which broke my slumbers. The chill 
dews were falling around me, and the shades of evening stretched 
over the landscape. I hastened homeward, and resigned the 
night to silence and meditation. 

Aikin's Miscellanies. 



7. PATIENCE RECOMMENDED. 

The darts of adverse fortune are always levelled at our heads. 
Some reach us, and some fly to wound our neighbours. Let 
us therefore impose an equal temper on our minds, and pay 
without murmuring the tribute which we owe to humanity. 
The winter brings cold, and we must freeze. The summer 
returns with heat, and we must melt. The inclemency of the 
air disorders our health, and we must be sick. x Here we are 
exposed to wild beasts, and there to men more savage than the 
beasts ; and if we escape the inconveniences and dangers of 
the air and the earth, there are perils by water, and perils by 
fire. This established course of things it is not in our power 
to change ; but it is in our power to assume such a greatness 
of mind as becomes wise and virtuous men, as may enable us 
to encounter the accidents of life with fortitude, and to conform 
ourselves to the order of Nature, who governs her great king- 
dom, the world, by continual mutations. Let us submit to 
this order ; let us be persuaded that whatever does happen 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 87 

ought to happen, and never be so foolish as to expostulate with 
Nature. The best resolution we can take is to suffer what we 
cannot alter, and to pursue without repining the road which 
Providence, who directs every thing, has marked to us : for it 
is enough to follow ; and he is but a bad soldier who sighs, 
and marches with reluctancy. We must receive the orders 
with spirit and cheerfulness, and not endeavour to slink out of 
the post which is assigned us in this beautiful disposition of 
things, whereof even sufferings make a necessary part. Let 
us address ourselves to God who governs all, as Cleanthes did 
in those admirable verses : — 

Parent of Nature ! Master of the world ! 
Where'er thy providence directs, behold 
My steps with cheerful resignation turn. 
Fate leads the willing, drags the backward on. 
Why should I grieve, when grieving I must bear ; 
Or take with guilt, what guiltless I might share ! 

Thus let us speak, and thus let us act. Eesignation to the 
will of God is true magnanimity. But the sure mark of a 
pusillanimous and base spirit, is to struggle against, to censure 
the order of Providence, and, instead of mending our own con- 
duct, to set up for correcting that of our Maker. 

BoLINGBKOKE. 



8. — THE PLANETS AND HEAVENLY BODIES. 

It is not for us to say, whether inspiration revealed to the 
Psalmist the wonders of the modern astronomy. But even 
though the mind be a perfect stranger to the science of these 
enlightened times, the heavens present a great and an elevating 
spectacle, — an immense concave reposing upon the circular 
boundary of the world, and the innumerable lights which are 
suspended from on high, moving with solemn regularity along 
its surface. It seems to have been at night that the piety of 
the Psalmist was awakened by this contemplation, when the 
moon and the stars were visible, and not when the sun had 
risen in his strength, and thrown a splendour around him, 



88 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

which bore down and eclipsed all the lesser glories of the fir- 
mament. And there is much in the scenery of a nocturnal 
sky to lift the soul to pious contemplation. The moon and 
these stars, what are they ? They are detached from the world, 
and they lift us above it. We feel withdrawn from the 
earth, and rise in lofty abstraction from this little theatre of 
human passions and human anxieties. The mind abandons 
itself to reverie, and is transferred in the ecstasy of its thoughts 
to distant and unexplored regions. It sees nature in the sim- 
plicity of her great elements, and it sees the God of nature 
invested with the high attributes of wisdom and majesty. 

But what can these lights be ? The curiosity of the human 
mind is insatiable ; and the mechanism of these wonderful 
heavens has, in all ages, been its subject and its employment. 
It has been reserved for these latter times to resolve this great 
and interesting question. The sublimest powers of philosophy 
have been called to the exercise, and astronomy may now be 
looked upon as the most certain and best established of the 
sciences. 

We all know that every visible object appears less in mag- 
nitude as it recedes from the eye. The lofty vessel as it re- 
tires from the coast shrinks into littleness, and at last appears 
in the form of a small speck on the verge of the horizon. The 
eagle with its expanded wings is a noble object ; but when it 
takes its flight into the upper regions of the air, it becomes 
less to the eye, and is seen like a dark spot upon the vault of 
heaven. The same is true of all magnitude. The heavenly 
bodies appear small to the eye of an inhabitant of this earth 
only from the immensity of their distance. When we talk of 
hundreds of millions of miles, it is not to be listened to as in- 
credible. For remember that we are talking of those bodies 
which are scattered over the immensity of space, and that space 
knows no termination. The conception is great and difficult, 
but the truth is unquestionable. By a process of measure- 
ment which it is unnecessary at present to explain, we have 
ascertained first the distance and then the magnitude of some 
of those bodies which roll in the firmament; that the sun, 
which presents itself to the eye under so diminutive a form, is 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 89 

really a globe, exceeding, by many thousands of times, the di- 
mensions of the earth which we inhabit ; that the moon itself 
has the magnitude of a world ; and that even a few of those 
stars, which appear like so many lucid points to the unassisted 
eye of the observer, expand into large circles upon the appli- 
cation of the telescope, and are some of them much larger than 
the ball which we tread upon, and to which we proudly apply 
the denomination of the universe. 

Now, why should we think that the great Architect of na- 
ture, supreme in wisdom as he is in power, would call these 
stately mansions into existence, and leave them unoccupied? 
When we cast our eye over the broad sea, and look at the 
country on the other side, we see nothing but the blue land 
stretching obscurely over the distant horizon. We are too far 
away to perceive the richness of its scenery, or to hear the 
sound of its population. Why not extend this principle to the 
still more distant parts of the universe ? What though, from 
this remote point of observation, we can see nothing but the 
naked roundness of yon planetary orbs ? Are we therefore to 
say, that they are so many vast and unpeopled solitudes ; that 
desolation reigns in every part of the universe but ours ; that 
the whole energy of the divine attributes is expended on one 
insignificant corner of these mighty works ; and that to this 
earth alone belongs the bloom of vegetation, or the blessed- 
ness of life, or the dignity of rational and immortal existence ? 

Chalmers. 



9. ON THE IMPORTANCE OF A CLASSICAL EDUCATION. 

A reader unacquainted with the real nature of a classical 
education will be in danger of undervaluing it, when he sees 
that so large a portion of time at so important a period of hu- 
man life is devoted to the study of a few ancient writers, whose 
works seem to have no direct bearing on the studies and duties 
of our own generation. This appears to many persons a great 
absurdity ; while others who are so far swayed by authority as 
to believe the system to be right, are yet unable to understand 
how it can be so. 



90 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

It may be freely confessed that the first origin of classical 
education affords in itself no reason for its being continued 
now. When Latin and Greek were almost the only written 
languages of civilized man, it is manifest that they must have 
furnished the subjects of all liberal education. The question 
therefore is wholly changed since the growth of a complete 
literature in other languages; since France, and Italy, and 
Germany, and England, have each produced their philosophers, 
their poets, and their historians, worthy to be placed on the 
same level with those of Greece and Kome. 

But although there is not the same reason now which ex- 
isted three or four centuries ago for the study of Greek and 
Eoman literature, yet there is another no less substantial. 
Expel Greek and Latin from your schools, and you confine the 
views of the existing generation to themselves and their im- 
mediate predecessors ; you will cut off so many centuries of 
the world's experience, and place us in the same state as if 
the human race had first come into existence in the year 1500. 
For it is nothing to say that a few learned individuals might 
still study classical literature ; the effect produced on the pub- 
lic mind would be no greater than that which has resulted 
from the labours of our oriental scholars ; it would not spread 
beyond themselves, and men in general after a few generations 
would know as little of Greece and Eome, as they do actually 
of China and Hindostan. But such an ignorance would be 
incalculably more to be regretted. With the Asiatic mind we 
have no nearer connexion and sympathy than is derived from 
our common humanity. But the mind of the Greek and of 
the Eoman is in all the essential points of its constitution our 
own ; and not only so, but it is our mind developed to an 
extraordinary degree of perfection. Wide as is the difference 
between us with respect to those physical instruments which 
minister to our uses or our pleasures ; although the Greeks 
and Eomans had no steam engines, no printing presses, no 
mariner's compass, no telescopes, no microscopes, no gun- 
powder, yet in our moral and political views, in those matters 
which most determine human character, there is a perfect re- 
semblance. Aristotle, and Plato, and Thucydides, and Cicero, 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 91 

and Tacitus, are most untruly called ancient writers ; they are 
virtually our own countrymen and contemporaries, but have 
the advantage which is enjoyed by intelligent travellers, that 
their observation has been exercised in a field out of the reach 
of common men ; and that, having thus seen in a manner with 
our eyes what we cannot see for ourselves, their conclusions are 
such as bear upon our own circumstances, while their infor- 
mation has all the charm of novelty, and all the value of a 
mass of new and pertinent facts, illustrative of the great science 
of the nature of civilized man. 

Now when it is said, that men in manhood so often throw 
their Greek and Latin aside, and that this very fact shows the 
uselessness of their early studies, it is much more true to say, 
that it shows how completely the literature of Greece and 
Kome would be forgotten, if our system of education did not 
keep up the knowledge of it. But it by no means shows that 
system to be useless, unless it followed that when a man laid 
aside his Greek and Latin books, he forgot also all that he had 
ever gained from them. This, however, is so far from being 
the case, that even where the results of a classical education 
are least tangible, and least appreciated even by the individual 
himself, still the mind often retains much of the effect of its 
early studies in the general liberality of its tastes, and com- 
parative comprehensiveness of its views and notions. All 
this supposes indeed that classical instruction should be sen- 
sibly conducted ; it requires that a classical teacher should be 
fully acquainted with modern history and modern literature,, 
no less than with those of Greece and Eome. What is, or 
perhaps what used to be, called a mere scholar, cannot possibly 
communicate to his pupils the main advantages of a classical 
education. The knowledge of the past is valuable, because 
without it our knowledge of the present and of the future must 
be scanty ; but if the knowledge of the past be confined wholly 
to itself, if, instead of being made to bear upon things around 
us, it be totally isolated from them, and so disguised by vague- 
ness and misapprehension, as to appear incapable of illustrating 
them, then indeed it becomes little better than laborious tri- 
fling, and they who declaim against it may be fully forgiven. 

Arnold. 



92 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 



10. WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 

When I am in a serious' humour, I very often walk by myself 
in Westminster Abbey", where the gloominess of the place", 
and the use' to which it is applied, with the solemnity of the 
building", and the condition of the people' who lie in it, are 
apt to fill the mind with a kind of melancholy", or rather 
thoughtfalness', that is not disagreeable". I yesterday passed 
the whole afternoon in the church"-yard, the cloisters', and the 
church", amusing myself with the tomb"-stones and inscriptions' 
that I met with in those several regions of the dead". Most 
of them recorded nothing else' of the buried person, but that 
he was born" upon one' day, and died' upon another"; the 
whole history of his life being comprehended in those two cir- 
cumstances', that are common to all" mankind. I could not 
but look upon these registers of existence, whether of brass or 
marble', as a kind of satire" upon the departed persons, who 
had left no other' memorial of them, but that they were born', 
and that they died". 

Upon my going into the church', I entertained myself with 
the digging of a grave", and saw in every shovel'-full of it that 
was thrown up, the fragment of a bone' or skull", intermixed 
with a kind of fresh mouldering earth', that some' time or other 
had a place in the composition of a human body". Upon this 
I began to consider with myself what innumerable multitudes 
of people lay confused' together under the pavement of that 
ancient cathedral" ; how men' and women", friends' and ene- 
mies", priests' and soldiers", monks" and prebendaries', were 
crumbled amongst one another', and blended together in the 
same common mass" ; how beauty', strength', and youth", with 
old age", weakness", and deformity', lay undistinguished' in the 
sam£ promiscuous heap of matter". 

After having thus surveyed this great magazine of mortality, 

* as it were in the lump', I examined it more particularly", by 

the accounts which I found on several of the monuments' which 

are raised in every quarter of that ancient fabric". Some of 

them were covered with such extravagant' epitaphs, that if it 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 93 

were possible for the dead person to be acquainted' with them, 
he would blush' at the praises which his friends have bestowed 
upon him. There are others so excessively modest', that they 
deliver the character of the person departed in Greek' or He- 
brew', and by that' means are not understood once in a twelve- 
month'. In the poetical' quarter I found there were poets' who 
had no monuments', and monuments' which had no poets'. I 
observed indeed that the present war had filled the church 
with many' of these uninhabited monuments, which had been 
erected to the memory of persons' whose bodies were perhaps 
buried in the plains of Blenheim', or in the bosom of the ocean\ 
I know that entertainments of this' nature are apt to raise 
dark' and dismal' thoughts in timorous' minds, and gloomy' 
imaginations ; but, for my own' part, though I am always seri- 
ous', I do not know what it is to be melancholy' ; and can 
therefore take a view of Nature in her deep' and solemn' scenes, 
with the same pleasure as in her most gay^ and delightful' ones. 
By this means I can improve' myself with those objects which 
others' consider with terror'. When I look upon the tombs of 
the great', every emotion of envy' dies in me ; when I read the 
epitaphs of the beautiful', every inordinate desire goes out' ; 
when I meet with the grief of parents' upon a tomb-stone, my 
heart melts with compassion' ; when I see the tomb of the 
parents themselves', I consider the vanity of grieving for those' 
whom we must quickly follow' : when I see kings lying by 
those who deposed' them ; when I consider rival wits placed 
side' by side', or the holy men that divided the world with 
their contests and disputes', I reflect, with sorrow' and astonish- 
ment', on the little competitions', factions', and debates' of 
mankind. When I read the several dates' of the tombs, of 
some that died yesterday', and some six hundred years' ago, I 
consider that great' day when we shall all of us be contempo- 
raries', and make our appearance together\ Spectator. 



94 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 



11. SUAVITY OF MANNER. 

Nothing is more unpleasing than to find that offence has been 
received where none was intended, and that pain has been 
given to those who were not guilty of any provocation. As 
the great end of society is mutual beneficence, a good man is 
always uneasy when he finds himself acting in opposition to 
the purposes of life ; because, though his conscience may easily 
acquit him of malice prepense, of settled hatred, or contriv- 
ances of mischief, yet he seldom can be certain, that he has 
not failed by negligence, or indolence, that he has not been 
hindered from consulting the common interest by too much re- 
gard to his own ease, or too much indifference to the happiness 
of others. Nor is it necessary, that, to feel this uneasiness, the 
mind should be extended to any great diffusion of generosity, 
or melted by uncommon warmth of benevolence ; for that pru- 
dence which the world teaches, and a quick sensibility of pri- 
vate interest, will direct us to shun needless enmities ; since 
there is no man whose kindness we may not some time want, 
or by whose malice we may not some time suffer. 

I have, therefore, frequently looked with wonder, and now 
and then with pity, at the thoughtlessness with which some 
alienate from themselves the affections of all whom chance, 
business, or inclination, brings in their way. When we see a 
man pursuing some darling interest, without much regard to 
the opinion of the world, we justly consider him as corrupt and 
dangerous, but are not long in discovering his motives; we 
see him actuated by passions which are hard to be resisted, and 
deluded by appearances which have dazzled stronger eyes. 
But the greater part of those who set mankind at defiance by 
hourly irritation, and who live but to infuse malignity, and 
multiply enemies, have no hopes to foster, no designs to pro- 
mote, nor any expectation of attaining power by insolence, or 
of climbing to greatness by trampling on others. They give 
up all the sweets of kindness for the sake of peevishness, pet- 
ulance, or gloom, and alienate the world by neglect of the 
common forms of civility, and the breach of the established 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 95 

laws of conversation. Every one must, in the walks of life, 
have met with men of whom all speak with censure, though 
they are not chargeable with any crime, and whom none can be 
persuaded to love, though a reason can scarcely be assigned why 
they should be hated, — who, if their good qualities and actions 
sometimes force a commendation, have their panegyric always 
concluded with confessions of disgust : " he is a good man, but 
I cannot like him." Surely such persons have sold the esteem 
of the world at too low a price, since they have lost one of the 
rewards of virtue, without gaining the profits of wickedness. 
They wrap themselves up in their innocence, and enjoy the 
congratulations of their own hearts, without knowing or suspect- 
•ing that they are every day deservedly incurring resentments, 
by withholding from those with whom they converse, that re- 
gard, or appearance of regard, to which every one is entitled 
by the customs of the world. 

There are many injuries, which almost every man feels, 
though he does not complain, and which, upon those whom 
virtue, elegance, or vanity have made delicate and tender, fix 
deep and lasting impressions ; as there are many arts of gra- 
ciousness and conciliation, which are to be practised without 
expense, and by which those may be made our friends, who 
have never received from us any real benefit. Such arts, 
when they include neither guilt nor meanness, it is surely rea- 
sonable to learn ; for who would want that love which, is so 
easily to be gained ? 

Some, indeed, there are, for whom the excuse of ignorance or 
negligence cannot be alleged, because it is apparent that they 
are not only careless of pleasing, but studious to offend ; that 
they contrive to make all approaches difficult and vexatious, 
and imagine that they aggrandize themselves by wasting the 
time of others in useless attendance, by mortifying them with 
slights, and teasing them with affronts. 

Men of this kind are generally to be found among those that 
have not mingled much in general conversation, but spent their 
lives amidst the obsequiousness of dependents, and the flattery 
of parasites ; and, by long consulting only their own inclination, 
have forgotten that others have a claim to the same deference. 



96 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

Tyranny thus avowed is, indeed, an exuberance of pride, 
at which all mankind are so much enraged, that it is never 
quietly endured, except in those who can reward the patience 
they exact; and insolence is generally surrounded only by 
those whose baseness inclines them to think nothing insupport- 
able that produces gain, and who can laugh at scurrility and 
rudeness with a luxurious table and an open purse. 

Dr Johnson. 



12. AN INTERVIEW BETWEEN AN OLD MAJOR AND A 

YOUNG OFFICER. 

When I was a young man about this town, I frequented the 
Ordinary of the Black Horse, in Holborn, where the person 
that usually presided at the table was a rough old-fashioned 
gentleman, who, according to the customs of those times, had 
been the Major and Preacher of a regiment. It happened one 
day that a noisy young officer, bred in France, was venting 
some new-fangled notions, and speaking, in the gaiety of his 
humour, against the dispensations of Providence. The Major 
at first only desired him to talk more respectfully of one for 
whom all the company had an honour ; but finding him run 
on in his extravagance, began to reprimand him after a more 
serious manner. " Young man," said he, " do not abuse your 
Benefactor whilst you are eating his bread. Consider whose 
air you breathe, whose presence you are in, and who it is that 
gave you the power of that very speech which you make use 
of to his dishonour." The young fellow, who thought to turn 
matters into a jest, asked him if he was going to preach ? but 
at the same time desired him to take care what he said when 
he spoke to a man of honour. " A man of honour ! " says the 
Major, " thou art an infidel and a blasphemer, and I shall use 
thee as such." In short, the quarrel ran so high, that the 
Major was desired to walk out. Upon their coming into the 
garden, the old fellow advised his antagonist to consider the 
place into which one pass might drive him ; but, finding him 
grow upon him to a degree of scurrility, as believing the advice 
proceeded from fear, " Sirrah," says he, " if a thunderbolt does 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 97 

not strike thee dead before I come at thee, I shall not fail to 
chastise thee for thy profaneness to thy Maker, and thy sauci- 
ness to his servant." Upon this he drew his sword, and cried 
out with a loud voice, The sword of the Lord, and of Gideon ! 
which so terrified his antagonist, that he was immediately 
disarmed, and thrown upon his knees. In this posture he 
begged his life ; but the Major refused to grant it, before he 
had asked pardon for his offence in a short extemporary prayer 
which the old gentleman dictated to him upon the spot, and 
which his proselyte repeated after him in the presence of the 
whole Ordinary, that were now gathered about him in the 
garden. Toiler, 



13. THE NATURE OF HEAT. 

There is, perhaps, no inquiry more worthy of the attention of 
the philosopher than the nature of heat, and the manner in 
which matter in general, and the different kinds of it, are af- 
fected by this wonderful agent. Its influence is manifestly 
so universal, and its action so important and necessary to the 
progress of all the operations of nature, that, to those who 
consider it with some attention, it will appear to be the general 
material principle of all motion, activity, and life, in this globe. 
Heat is inseparably necessary to the very existence of vegeta- 
bles and animals. Without it, they want the power to attract 
their nourishment, or to set it in motion through their system, 
or to refine and ripen it in their different parts. Their vigour 
and life depend on its influence. It is only when enlivened 
by heat that they make it assume the various forms and qual- 
ities which we find in the wood, the root, the leaves, the juices, 
the fruit, the seeds, and the beautiful forms and colours dis- 
played in the flowers. When heat departs, they decay and 
die. Nor is animal life less immediately dependent on heat 
for support than vegetable. Heat is the main-spring in the 
corporeal part of an animal, without which all motion and life 
would instantly stop. There are tew facts more unaccountable 
than the effect of heat on an egg, though there are few to 
which we pay so little attention. We see a lump of apparently 



98 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

dead matter, which, left to itself, would continue dead and 
inactive for ever. By the application of a gentle degree of 
heat, it soon has an animal formed within it, which quickly 
increases in size and perfection, until it breaks open its en- 
closure, perfect in all its parts, and ready to perform its proper 
functions. Dr Black's Chemical Lectures. 



14. REMARKS ON THE SWIFTNESS OF TIME. 

The natural advantages which arise from the position of the 
earth which we inhabit, with respect to the other planets, afford 
much employment to mathematical speculation, by which it 
has been discovered, that no other conformation of the system 
could have given such commodious distributions of light and 
heat, or imparted fertility and pleasure to so great a part of a 
revolving sphere. 

It may be perhaps observed by the moralist, with equal 
reason, that our globe seems particularly fitted for the resi- 
dence of a being, placed here only for a short time, whose 
task is to advance himself to a higher and happier state of 
existence, by unremitted vigilance of caution, and activity of 
virtue. 

The duties required of man are such as human nature does 
not willingly perform, and such as those are inclined to delay 
who yet intend some time to fulfil them. It was therefore 
necessary that this universal reluctance should be counter- 
acted, and the drowsiness of hesitation wakened into resolve ; 
that the danger of procrastination should be always in view, 
and the fallacies of security be hourly detected. 

To this end all the appearances of nature uniformly con- 
spire. Whatever we see on every side, reminds us of the lapse 
of time and the flux of life. The day and night succeed each 
other, the rotation of seasons diversifies the year, the sun rises, 
attains the meridian, declines and sets ; and the moon every 
night changes its form. 

The day has been considered as an image of the year, and 
a year as the representation of life. The morning answers to 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 99 

the spring, and the spring to childhood and youth ; the noon 
corresponds to the summer, and the summer to the strength of 
manhood. The evening is an emblem of autumn, and autumn 
of declining life. The night, with its silence and darkness, 
shows the winter, in which all the powers of vegetation are 
benumbed ; and the winter points out the time when life shall 
cease, with its hopes and pleasures. 

He that is carried forward, however swiftly, by a motion 
equable and easy, perceives not the change of place but by 
the variation of objects. If the wheel of life, which rolls thus 
silently along, passed on through undistinguishable uniformity, 
we should never mark its approaches to the end of the course. 
If one hour were like another ; if the passage of the sun did 
not show that the day is wasting ; if the change of seasons did 
not impress upon us the flight of the year, quantities of dura- 
tion equal to days and years would glide unobserved. If the 
parts of time were not variously coloured, we should never 
discern their departure or succession, but should live thought- 
less of the past, and careless of the future, without will, and 
perhaps without power to compute the periods of life, or to 
compare the time which is already lost with that which may 
probably remain. 

But the course of time is so visibly marked, that it is even 
observed by the passage, and by nations who have raised their 
minds very little above animal instinct : there are human 
beings, whose language does not supply them with words by 
which they can number five, but I have read of none that 
have not names for day and night, for summer and winter. 

Yet it is certain that these admonitions of nature, however 
forcible, however importunate, are too often vain; and that 
many, who mark with such accuracy the course of time, appear 
to have little sensibility of the decline of life. Every man has 
something to do which he neglects ; every man has faults to 
conquer which he delays to combat. 

So little do we accustom ourselves to consider the effects of 
time, that things necessary and certain often surprise us like 
unexpected contingencies. We leave the beauty in her bloom, 
and, after an absence of twenty years, wonder, at our return, 



100 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

to find her faded. We meet those whom we left children, and 
can scarcely persuade ourselves to treat them as men. The 
traveller visits in age those countries through which he ram- 
bled in his youth, and hopes for merriment at the old place. 
The man of business, wearied with unsatisfactory prosperity, 
retires to the town of his nativity, and expects to play away 
the last years with the companions of his childhood, and re- 
cover youth in the fields where he once was young. 

From this inattention, so general and so mischievous, let it 
be every man's study to exempt himself. Let him that desires 
to see others happy, make haste to give while his gift can be 
enjoyed, and remember that every moment of delay takes away 
something from the value of his benefaction. And let him 
who proposes his own happiness, reflect, that while he forms 
his purpose the day rolls on, and " the night cometh, when no 
man can work." Idler. 



15. THE MOUNTAIN OF MISERIES. 

It is a celebrated thought of Socrates, that if all the misfortunes 
of mankind were cast into a public stock, in order to be equally 
distributed among the whole species, those who now think 
themselves the most unhappy would prefer the share they are 
already possessed of, before that which would fall to them by 
such a division. As I was ruminating upon this, and seated 
in my elbow chair, I insensibly fell asleep, when on a sudden 
methought there was a proclamation made by Jupiter, that 
every mortal should bring in his griefs and calamities, and 
throw them together in a heap. There was a large plain ap- 
pointed for this purpose. I took my stand in the centre of it, 
and saw, with a great deal of pleasure, the whole human 
species marching one after another, and throwing down their 
several loads, which immediately grew up into a prodigious 
mountain, that seemed to rise above the clouds. There was a 
certain lady, of a thin airy shape, who was very active in this 
solemnity. She carried a magnifying glass in one of her hands, 
and was clothed in a loose flowing robe, embroidered with 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 101 

several figures of fiends and spectres, that discovered them- 
selves in a thousand chimerical shapes as her garments hovered 
in the wind. There was something wild and distracted in her 
looks. Her name was Fancy. She led up every mortal to 
the appointed place, after having very officiously assisted him 
in making up his pack and laying it upon his shoulders. My 
heart melted within me to see my fellow- creatures groaning 
under their respective burdens, and to consider that prodigious 
hulk of human calamities which lay before me. There were, 
however, several persons who gave me great diversion. Upon 
this occasion, I observed one bringing in a fardel, very care- 
fully concealed under an old embroidered cloak, which, upon 
his throwing it into the heap, I discovered to be poverty. I 
saw multitudes of old women throw down their wrinkles, and 
several young ones who stripped themselves of a tawny skin. 
There were very great heaps of red noses, large lips, and rusty 
teeth. But what most of all surprised me, was a remark I 
made, that there was not a single vice or folly thrown into the 
whole heap, at which I was very much astonished, having con- 
cluded within myself that every one would take this opportu- 
nity of getting rid of his passions, prejudices, and frailties. I 
took notice in particular of a very profligate fellow, who, I did 
not question, came loaden with his crimes ; but, upon searching 
into his bundle, I found that, instead of throwing his guilt from 
him, he had only laid down his memory. He was followed by 
another worthless rogue, who flung away his modesty instead 
of his ignorance. When the whole race of mankind had thus 
cast their burdens, the phantom which had been so busy on 
this occasion, seeing me an idle spectator of what passed, ap- 
proached towards me. I grew uneasy at her presence, when 
of a sudden she held her magnifying glass full before my eyes. 
I no sooner saw my lace in it, than I was startled at the short- 
ness of it, which now appeared to me in its utmost aggravation. 
The immoderate breadth of the features made me very much 
out of humour with my own countenance, upon which I threw 
it from me like a mask. It happened very luckily that one 
who stood by me had just before thrown down his visage, which, 
it seems, was too long for him. It was indeed extended to a 



102 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

most shameful length ; I believe the very chin was, modestly 
speaking, as long as my whole face. 

As we were regarding very attentively this confusion of 
miseries, this chaos of calamity, Jupiter issued out a second 
proclamation, that every one was now at liberty to exchange 
his affliction, and return to his habitation with any such bundle 
as should be allotted to him. Upon this, Fancy began again 
to bestir herself, and, parcelling out the whole heap with in- 
credible activity, recommended to every one his particular 
packet. The hurry and confusion at this time were not to be 
expressed. A poor galley slave, who had thrown down his 
chains, took up the gout instead, but made such wry faces, 
that one might easily perceive he was no great gainer by the 
bargain. It was pleasant enough to see the several exchanges 
that were made, for sickness against poverty, hunger against 
want of appetite, and care against pain. I must not omit my 
own particular adventure. My friend with a long visage had 
no sooner taken upon him my short face, than he made such 
a grotesque figure in it, that as I looked upon him, I could not 
forbear laughing at myself, insomuch that I put my own face 
out of countenance. The poor gentleman was so sensible of 
the ridicule, that I found he was ashamed of what he had done ; 
on the other side, I found that I myself had no great reason to 
triumph, for as I went to touch my forehead, I missed the 
place, and clapped my finger upon my upper lip. Besides, as 
my nose was exceedingly prominent, I gave it two or three un- 
lucky knocks, as I was playing my hand about my face, and 
aiming at some other part of it. I saw two other gentlemen 
by me, who were in the same ridiculous circumstances. These 
had made a foolish exchange between a couple of thick bandy 
legs and two long trapsticks that had no calves to them. One 
of these looked like a man walking upon stilts, and was so 
lifted up into the air, above his ordinary height, that his head 
turned round with it ; while the other made such awkward 
circles, as he attempted to walk, that he scarcely knew how to 
move forward upon his new supporters. The heap was at last 
distributed among the two sexes, who made a most piteous 
sight as they wandered up and down under the pressure of 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 103 

their several burdens. The whole plain was filled with mur- 
murs and complaints, groans and lamentations. Jupiter at 
length, taking compassion on the poor mortals, ordered them a 
second time to lay down their loads, with a design to give 
every one his own again. They discharged themselves with 
a great deal of pleasure, after which the phantom, who had led 
them into such gross delusions, was commanded to disappear. 
There was sent in her stead a goddess of a quite different figure ; 
her motions were steady and composed, and her aspect serious 
but cheerful. She every now and then cast her eyes towards 
heaven, and fixed them upon Jupiter. Her name was Patience. 
She had no sooner placed herself by the mount of sorrows, than, 
what I thought very remarkable, the whole heap sunk to such 
a degree, that it did not appear a third part so big as it was 
before. She afterwards returned every man his own proper 
calamity, and teaching him how to bear it in the most commo- 
dious manner, he marched off with it contentedly, being very 
well pleased that he had not been left to his own choice as to 
the kind of evils which fell to his lot. 

Besides the several pieces of morality to be drawn out of 
this vision, I learnt from it never to repine at my own misfor- 
tunes, or to envy the happiness of another, since it is impos- 
sible for any man to form a right judgment of his neighbour's 
sufferings ; for which reason also I have determined never to 
think too lightly of another's complaints, but to regard the 
sorrows of my fellow-creatures with sentiments of humanity 
and compassion. Addison. 



16. ON PRONUNCIATION, OR DELIVERY. 

How much stress was laid upon pronunciation, or delivery, by 
the most eloquent of all orators, Demosthenes, appears from 
a noted saying of his, related both by Cicero and Quintilian ; 
when being asked, What was the first point in oratory? he 
answered, Delivery ; and being asked, What was the second ? 
and afterwards, What was the third? he still answered, De- 
livery. There is no wonder, that he should have rated this 
so high, and that, for improving himself in it, he should have 



104 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

employed those assiduous and painful labours, which all the 
ancients take so much notice of ; for, beyond doubt, nothing is 
of more importance. To superficial thinkers, the management 
of the voice and gesture, in public speaking, may appear to 
relate to decoration only, and to be one of the inferior arts of 
catching an audience. But this is far from being the case. 
It is intimately connected with what is, or ought to be, the 
end of all public speaking — persuasion ; and therefore deserves 
the study of the most grave and serious speakers, as much as 
of those, whose only aim is to please. 

For, let it be considered, whenever we address ourselves 
to others by words, our intention certainly is to make some 
impression on those to whom we speak ; it is to convey to them 
our own ideas and emotions. Now the tone of our voice, our 
looks and gestures, interpret our ideas and emotions no less 
than words do ; nay, the impression they make on others is 
frequently much stronger than any that words can make. We 
often see that an expressive look, or a passionate cry, unac- 
companied by words, conveys to others more forcible ideas, and 
rouses within them stronger passions, than can be communicated 
by the most eloquent discourse. The signification of our senti- 
ments, made by tones and gestures, has this advantage above 
that made by words, that it is the language of nature. It is 
that method of interpreting our mind, which nature has dictated 
to all, and which is understood by all ; whereas, words are only 
arbitrary, conventional symbols of our ideas ; and, by conse- 
quence, must make a more feeble impression. So true is this, 
that, to render words fully significant, they must, almost in 
every case, receive some aid from the manner of pronunciation 
and delivery ; and he who, in speaking, should employ bare 
words, without enforcing them by proper tones and accents, 
would leave us with a faint and indistinct impression, often 
with a doubtful and ambiguous conception of what he had 
delivered. Nay, so close is the connexion between certain 
sentiments and the proper manner of pronouncing them, that 
he who does not pronounce them after that manner, can never 
persuade us that he believes, or feels, the sentiments themselves. 

Blair. 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 



105 



17. DRYDEN AND POPE COMPARED. 

Integrity of understanding and nicety of discernment were 
not allotted in a less proportion to Dry den than to Pope. The 
rectitude of Dryden's mind was sufficiently shown by the dis- 
mission of his poetical prejudices, and the rejection of unnatural 
thoughts and rugged numbers. But Dryden never desired to 
apply all the judgment that he had. He wrote, and professed 
to write, merely for the people ; and when he pleased others, 
he contented himself. He spent no time in struggles to rouse 
latent powers ; he never attempted to make that better which 
was already good; nor often to mend what he must have known 
to be faulty. He wrote, as he tells us, with very little con- 
sideration; when occasion or necessity called upon him, he 
poured out what the present moment happened to supply, and 
when once it had passed the press, ejected it from his mind ; 
for when he had no pecuniary interest, he had no further solici- 
tude. Pope was not content to satisfy, he desired to excel ; and 
therefore always endeavoured to do his best ; he did not court 
the candour, but dared the judgment of his reader, and, expect- 
ing no indulgence from others, he showed none to himself. He 
examined lines and words with minute and punctilious obser- 
vation, and retouched every part with indefatigable diligence, 
till he had left nothing to be forgiven. For this reason he 
kept his pieces very long in his hands, while he considered 
and reconsidered them. The only poems which can be supposed 
to have been written with such regard to the times as might 
hasten their publication, were the two satires of " Thirty- 
Eight"; of which Dodsley told me that they were brought 
to him by the author that they might be fairly copied. " Al- 
most every line," he said, " was then written twice over ; I 
gave him a clean transcript, which he sent some time afterwards 
to me for the press, with almost every line written twice over 
a second time." 

His declaration that his care for his works ceased at their 
publication, was not strictly true. His parental attention never 
abandoned them ; what he found amiss in the first edition, he 

e2 



106 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

silently corrected in those that followed. He appears to have 
revised the "Iliad," and freed it from some of its imperfections; 
and the "Essay on Criticism" received many improvements 
after its first appearance. It will seldom he found that he 
altered without adding clearness, elegance, or vigour. Pope 
had perhaps the judgment of Dryden, but Dryden certainly 
wanted the diligence of Pope. 

In acquired knowledge, the superiority must be allowed to 
Dryden, whose education was more scholastic, and who, before 
he became an author, had been allowed more time for study, 
with better means of information. His mind has a larger range, 
and he collects his images and illustrations from a more exten- 
sive circumference of science. Dryden knew more of man in 
his general nature, and Pope in his local manners. The notions 
of Dryden were formed by comprehensive speculation ; those 
of Pope by minute attention. There is more dignity in the 
knowledge of Dryden, and more certainty in that of Pope. 

Poetry was not the sole praise of either ; for both excelled 
likewise in prose ; but Pope did not borrow his prose from his 
predecessor. The style of Dryden is capricious and varied; 
that of Pope is cautious and uniform. Dryden obeys the mo- 
tions of his own mind ; Pope constrains his mind to his own 
rules of composition. Dryden is sometimes vehement and rapid ; 
Pope is always smooth, uniform, and gentle. Dryden's page 
is a natural field, rising into inequalities, and diversified by the 
varied exuberance of abundant vegetation ; Pope's is a velvet 
lawn, shaven by the scythe, and levelled by the roller. 

Of genius — that power which constitutes a poet ; that quality, 
without which judgment is cold, and knowledge is inert ; that 
energy which collects, combines, amplifies, and animates — the 
superiority must, with some hesitation, be allowed to Dryden. 
It is not to be inferred, that of this poetical vigour Pope had 
only a little, because Dryden had more ; for every other writer 
since Milton must give place to Pope ; and even of Dryden it 
must be said, that if he has brighter paragraphs, he has not 
better poems. Dryden's performances were always hasty; either 
excited by some external occasion, or extorted by domestic 
necessity : he composed without consideration, and published 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 107 

without correction. What his mind could supply at call, or 
gather in one excursion, was all that he sought, and all that he 
gave. The dilatory caution of Pope enabled him to condense 
his sentiments, to multiply his images, and to accumulate all 
that study might produce, or chance might supply. If the flights 
of Dryden, therefore, are higher. Pope continues longer on the 
wing. If of Dryden's fire the blaze is brighter, of Pope's the 
heat is more regular and constant. Dryden often surpasses 
expectation, and Pope never falls below it. Dryden is read 
with frequent astonishment, and Pope with perpetual delight. 

Johnson. 



18. ON THE LOVE OF NATURE. 

Homer's beautiful description of the heavens and earth, as 
they appear in a calm evening by the light of the moon and 
stars, concludes with this circumstance : " And the heart of 
the shepherd is glad." Madame Dacier, from the turn she 
gives to the passage in her version, seems to think, and Pope, in 
order perhaps to make out his couplet, insinuates, that the glad- 
ness of the shepherd is owing to his sense of the utility of those 
luminaries. And this may in part be the case ; but this is not 
in Homer ; nor is it a necessary consideration. It is true that, 
in contemplating the material universe, they who discern the 
causes and effects of things, must be more rapturously enter- 
tained than those who perceive nothing but shape and size, 
colour and motion. Yet, in the mere outside of nature's 
works, there is a splendour and a magnificence, to which even 
untutored minds cannot attend without great delight. 

Not that all peasants or all philosophers are equally suscep- 
tible of these charming impressions. It is strange to observe 
the callousness of some men, before whom all the glories of 
heaven and earth pass in daily succession without touching 
their hearts, elevating their fancy, or leaving any durable re- 
membrance. Even of those who pretend to sensibility, how 
many are there to whom the lustre of the rising or setting sun, 
the sparkling concave of the midnight sky, the mountain forest 
tossing and roaring to the storm, or warbling with all the 



108 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

melodies of a summer evening ; the sweet interchange of hill 
and dale, shade and sunshine, grove, lawn, and water, which 
an extensive landscape offers to the view ; the scenery of the 
ocean, so lovely, so majestic, and so tremendous, and the many 
pleasing varieties of the animal and vegetable kingdom, could 
never afford so much real satisfaction, as the steams of a ball- 
room, or the wranglings of a card- table. But some minds there 
are of a different mould, who, even in the early part of life, 
receive from the contemplation of nature a species of delight 
which they would hardly exchange for any other ; and who, 
as avarice and ambition are not the infirmities of that period, 
would, with equal sincerity and rapture, exclaim — 

" I care not, Fortune, what you me deny, 
You cannot rob me of free nature's grace ; 
You cannot shut the windows of the sky, 
Through which Aurora shows her brightening face ; 
You cannot bar my constant feet to trace 
The woods and lawns by living stream at eve ; 
Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace, 
And I their toys to the great children leave : 
Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave." 

Such minds have always in them the seeds of true taste, 
and frequently of imitative genius. At least, although their 
enthusiastic or visionary turn of mind, as the man of the world 
would call it, should not always incline them to cultivate poetry 
or painting, we need not scruple to affirm, that, without some 
portion of this enthusiasm, no person ever became a true poet 
or painter. For he who would imitate the works of nature, 
must accurately observe them, and accurate observation is to 
be expected from those only who take great pleasure in it. To 
a mind thus disposed no part of creation is indifferent. In the 
crowded city and howling wilderness, in the cultivated province 
and solitary isle, in the flowery lawn and craggy mountain, in 
the murmur of the rivulet and in the uproar of the ocean, in 
the radiance of summer and gloom of winter, in the thunder 
of heaven and in the whisper of the breeze, he still finds some- 
thing to rouse or to soothe his imagination, to draw forth his 
affections, or to employ his understanding. And from every 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 109 

mental energy that is not attended with pain, and even from 
some of those that are, as moderate terror and pity, a sound 
mind derives satisfaction ; exercise being equally necessary to 
the body and the soul, and to both equally productive of health 
and pleasure. This happy sensibility to the beauties of nature 
should be cherished in young persons. It engages them to 
contemplate the Creator in his wonderful works; it purifies 
and harmonizes the soul, and prepares it for moral and intel- 
lectual discipline ; it supplies a never-failing source of amuse- 
ment ; it contributes even to bodily health ; and, as a strict 
analogy subsists between material and moral beauty, it leads 
the heart by an easy transition from the one to the other, and 
thus recommends virtue for its transcendent loveliness, and 
makes vice appear the object of contempt and abomination. 
An intimate acquaintance with the best descriptive poets, 
joined to some practice in the art of drawing, will promote 
this amiable sensibility in early years ; for then the face of 
nature has novelty superadded to its other charms, the pas- 
sions are not pre-engaged, the heart is free from care, and the 
imagination warm and romantic. Dr Beattie. 



19. THE DOWNFAL OF BONAPARTE. 

The downfal of Bonaparte is an impressive lesson to Ambition, 
and affords a striking illustration of the inevitable tendency of 
that passion to bring to ruin the power and the greatness which 
it seeks so madly to increase. No human being, perhaps, ever 
stood on so proud a pinnacle of worldly grandeur as Napoleon 
at the beginning of his Kussian campaign. He had done more, 
he had acquired more, and he possessed more, as to actual 
power, influence, and authority, than any individual that ever 
figured on the scene of European story. He had visited, with 
a victorious army, almost every capital of the continent, and 
dictated the terms of peace to their astonished princes. He 
had consolidated under his immediate dominion a territory and 
population apparently sufficient to meet the combination of 
all that it did not include, and interwoven himself with the 






110 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

government of almost all that was left. He had cast down 
and erected thrones at his pleasure, and surrounded himself 
with tributary kings and principalities of his own creation. 
He had connected himself by marriage with the proudest of 
the ancient sovereigns, and was at the head of the largest and 
the finest army that was ever assembled to desolate or dispose 
of the world. Had he known where to stop in his aggressions 
upon the peace and independence of mankind, it seems as if 
this terrific sovereignty might have been permanently estab- 
lished in his person. But the demon by whom he was possessed 
urged him on to his fate. He could not bear that any power 
should exist which did not confess its dependence on him. 
Without a pretext for quarrel, he attacked Eussia, insulted 
Austria, trod contemptuously on the fallen fortunes of Prussia, 
and, by new aggressions, and the menace of more intolerable 
evils, drove them into that league which rolled back the tide 
of ruin on himself, and ultimately hurled him into the insig- 
nificance from which he originally sprung. Jeffrey. 



20. ON SUBLIMITY. 

It is not easy to describe in words the precise impression which 
great and sublime objects make upon us when we behold them ; 
but every one has a conception of it. It produces a sort of in- 
ternal elevation and expansion ; it raises the mind much above 
its ordinary state, and fills it with a degree of wonder and as- 
tonishment which it cannot well express. The emotion is 
certainly delightful, but it is altogether of the serious kind ; 
a degree of awfulness and solemnity, even approaching to se- 
verity, commonly attends it when at its height, very distin- 
guishable from the more gay and brisk emotion raised by 
beautiful objects. 

The simplest form of external grandeur appears in the vast 
and boundless prospects presented to us by nature; such as 
wide extended plains, to which the eye can see no limits, the 
firmament of heaven, or the boundless expanse of the ocean. 
All vastness produces the impression of sublimity. It is to be 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. Ill 

remarked, however, that space, extended in length, makes not 
so strong an impression as height or depth. Though a bound- 
less plain is a grand object, yet a high mountain, to which 
we look up, or an awful precipice or tower, whence we look 
down on the objects which lie below, is still more so. The 
excessive grandeur of the firmament arises from its height, 
joined to its boundless extent; and that of the ocean, not 
from its extent alone, but from the perpetual motion and ir- 
resistible force of that mass of waters. Wherever space is con- 
cerned, it is clear that amplitude or greatness of extent, in one 
dimension or other, is necessary to grandeur. Remove all 
bounds from any object, and you presently render it sublime. 
Hence infinite space, endless numbers, and eternal duration, 
fill the mind with great ideas. 

From this some have imagined that vastness or amplitude 
of extent is the foundation of all sublimity. But I cannot be 
of that opinion, because many objects appear sublime which 
have no relation to space at all. Such, for instance, is great 
loudness of sound. The burst of thunder or of cannon, the 
roaring of winds, the shouting of multitudes, the sound of vast 
cataracts of water, are all incontestably grand objects. "I 
heard the voice of a great multitude, as the sound of many 
waters, and of mighty thunderings, saying, Hallelujah." In 
general we may observe, that great power and force exerted, 
always raise sublime ideas ; and perhaps the most copious 
source of these is derived from this quarter. Hence the gran- 
deur of earthquakes, and burning mountains, of great confla- 
grations, of the stormy ocean, and overflowing waters, of 
tempests of wind, of thunder and lightning, and of all the 
uncommon violence of the elements ; nothing is more sublime 
than mighty power and strength. A stream that runs within 
its banks is a beautiful object ; but when it rushes down with 
the impetuosity and noise of a torrent, it presently becomes a 
sublime one. From lions and other animals of strength are 
drawn sublime comparisons in poets. A racehorse is looked 
upon with pleasure, but it is the warhorse, "whose neck is 
clothed with thunder," that carries grandeur in its idea. The 
engagement of two great armies, as it is the highest exertion of 



112 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

human might, combines a variety of sources of the sublime, 
and has accordingly been always considered as one of the most 
striking and magnificent spectacles that can be either presented 
to the eye, or exhibited to the imagination in description. 

Blair. 



21. THE KORAN. 

I hardly think that we can have a more striking proof of the 
prejudices of modern infidels, than in their attempt to compare 
this motley composition, the Koran, to the writings of the Old 
and New Testament. Let the reader but take the trouble to 
peruse the history of Joseph by Mahomet, which is the subject 
of a very long chapter, and to compare it with the account of 
that patriarch given by Moses, and if he does not perceive at 
once the immense inferiority of the former, I shall never, for 
my part, undertake by argument to convince him of it. To 
me it appears even almost incredible, that the most beautiful 
and most afFecting passages of Holy Writ should have been so 
wretchedly disfigured by a writer, whose intention, we are 
certain, was not to burlesque them. Poverty of sentiment, 
monstrosity of invention, which always betokens a distempered, 
not a rich imagination, and, with respect to diction, the most 
turgid verbosity, so apt to be mistaken by persons of a vitiated 
taste for true sublimity, are the genuine characteristics of the 
book. They appear almost in every line. The very titles and 
epithets assigned to God are not exempt from them. The 
Lord of the daybreak, the Lord of the magnificent throne, the 
king of the day of judgment. They are pompous and insigni- 
ficant. If the language of the Koran, as the Mahometans 
pretend, is indeed the language of God> the thoughts are but 
too evidently the thoughts of men. The reverse of this is the 
character of the Bible. When God speaks to men, it is rea- 
sonable to think, that he addresses them in their own language. 
In the Bible you will see nothing inflated, nothing affected in 
the style. The words are human, but the sentiments are divine. 
Accordingly there is perhaps no book in the world which suf- 
fers less by a literal translation into any other language. 

Dr G. Campbell. 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 113 



22. THE POOR WEEP UNHEEDED. 

No observation is more common, and at the same time more 
true, than, That one half of the world are ignorant how the 
other half lives. The misfortunes of the great are held up to 
engage our attention ; are enlarged upon in tones of declama- 
tion ; and the world is called upon to gaze at the noble suffer- 
ers : the great, under the pressure of calamity, are conscious 
of several others sympathizing with their distress ; and have, 
at once, the comfort of admiration and pity. 

There is nothing magnanimous in bearing misfortunes with 
fortitude, when the whole world is looking on : men in such 
circumstances will act bravely, even from motives of vanity ; 
but he who, in the vale of obscurity, can brave adversity; 
who, without friends to encourage, acquaintances to pity, or 
even without hope to alleviate his misfortunes, can behave 
with tranquillity and indifference, is truly great ; whether peas- 
ant or courtier, he deserves admiration, and should be held up 
for our imitation and respect. 

While the slightest inconveniences of the great are magni- 
fied into calamities ; while tragedy mouths out their sufferings 
in all the strains of eloquence ; the miseries of the poor are en- 
tirely disregarded ; and yet some of the lower ranks of people 
undergo more real hardships in one day than those of a more 
exalted station suffer in their whole lives. It is inconceivable 
what difficulties the meanest of our common sailors and soldiers 
endure without murmuring or regret; without passionately 
declaiming against Providence, or calling their fellows to be 
gazers on their intrepidity. Every day is to them a day of 
misery, and yet they entertain their hard fate without repining. 

With what indignation do I hear an Ovid, a Cicero, or a 
Kabutin, complain of their misfortunes and hardships, whose 
greatest calamity was that of being unable to visit a certain 
spot of earth, to which they had foolishly attached an idea of 
happiness ! Their distresses were pleasures, compared to what 
many of the adventuring poor every day endure without mur- 
muring. They ate, drank, and slept ; they had slaves to at- 



114 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

tend them ; and were sure of subsistence for life ; while many 
of their fellow-creatures are obliged to wander without a friend 
to comfort or assist them, and even without shelter from the 
severity of the season. Goldsmith. 



23. SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY's VISIT TO THE ASSIZES. 

A man's first care should be to avoid the reproaches of his own 
heart ; his next, to escape the censures of the world. If the 
latter interferes with the former, it ought to be entirely ne- 
glected ; but otherwise there cannot be a greater satisfaction 
to an honest mind than to see those approbations which it gives 
itself seconded by the applauses of the public. A man is more 
sure of his conduct when the verdict which he passes upon his 
own behaviour is thus warranted and confirmed by the opinion 
of all that know him. 

My worthy friend Sir Eoger is one of those, who is not only 
at peace within himself, but beloved and esteemed by all about 
him. He receives a suitable tribute for his universal bene- 
volence to mankind, in the returns of affection and goodwill 
which are paid him by every one that lives within his neigh- 
bourhood. I lately met with two or three odd instances of that 
general respect which is shown to the good old knight. He 
would needs carry Will Wimble and myself with him to the 
county assizes. As we were upon the road, Will Wimble 
joined a couple of plain men who rode before us, and conversed 
with them for some time, during which my friend Sir Eoger 
acquainted me with their characters. " The first of them," 
says he, " that has a spaniel by his side, is a yeoman of about 
a hundred pounds a-year, an honest man. He is just within 
the game act, and qualified to kill a hare or a pheasant. He 
knocks down a dinner with his gun twice or thrice a- week, and 
by that means lives much cheaper than those who have not so 
good an estate as himself. He would be a good neighbour if 
he did not destroy so many partridges. In short, he is a very 
sensible man ; shoots flying ; and has been several times foreman 
of the petty jury. The other that rides along with him is Tom 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 115 

Touchy, a fellow famous for taking " the law " of every body. 
There is not one in the town where he lives that he has not 
sued at a quarter-sessions. His head is full of costs, damages, 
and ejectments. He plagued a couple of honest gentlemen so 
long for a trespass in breaking one of his hedges,"that he was 
forced to sell the ground it enclosed to defray the charges of 
the prosecution ; his father left him fourscore pounds a-year ; 
but he has cast and been cast so often, that he is now not worth 
thirty. I suppose he is going upon the old business of the 
willow-tree. As Sir Eoger was giving me this account of Tom 
Touchy, Will Wimble and his two companions stopped short 
till we came up to them. After having paid their respects to 
Sir Roger, Will told him that Mr Touchy and he must appeal 
to him upon a dispute that arose between them. Will, it 
seems, had been giving his fellow-traveller an account of his 
angling one day in such a hole, when Tom Touchy, instead of 
hearing out his story, told him that Mr Such-a-one, if he pleased, 
might take the law of him for fishing in that part of the river. 
My friend Sir Roger heard them both upon a round trot, and, 
after having paused some time, told them, with the air of a 
man who would not give his judgment rashly, that "much 
might be said on both sides." They were neither of them 
dissatisfied with the knight's determination, because neither 
of them found himself in the wrong by it. Upon which we 
made the best of our way to the assizes. 

The court was seated before Sir Roger came ; but notwith- 
standing all the justices had taken their places upon the bench, 
they made room for the old knight at the head of them, who, 
for his reputation in the country, took occasion to whisper in 
the judge's ear, that he was glad his lordship had met with 
so much good weather in his circuit. I was listening to the 
proceedings of the court with much attention, and infinitely 
pleased with that great appearance of solemnity which so pro- 
perly accompanies such a public administration of our laws, 
when, after about an hour's sitting, I observed, to my great 
surprise, in the midst of a trial, that my friend Sir Roger was 
getting up to speak. I was in some pain for him, until I found 
he had acquitted himself of two or three sentences with a look 



116 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

of much "business and great intrepidity. Upon his first rising 
the court was hushed, and a general whisper ran among the 
country-people that Sir Koger "was up." The speech he 
made was so little to the purpose, that I shall not trouble my 
readers with an account of it, and, I believe, was not so much 
designed by the knight himself to inform the court, as to give 
him a figure in my eye, and keep up his credit in the country. 
I was highly delighted, when the court rose, to see the gentle- 
men of the county gathering about my old friend, and striving 
who should compliment him most ; at the same time that the 
ordinary people gazed upon him at a distance, not a little 
admiring his courage that he was not afraid to speak to the 
judge. 

In our return home we met with a very odd accident, which 
I cannot forbear relating, because it shows how desirous all 
who know Sir Eoger are of giving him marks of their esteem. 
When we arrived upon the verge of his estate, we stopped at 
a little inn to rest ourselves and our horses. The man of the 
house had, it seems, been formerly a servant in the knight's 
family, and, to do honour to his old master, had some time since, 
unknown to Sir Eoger, put him up in a signpost before the 
door ; so that the knight's head hung out upon the road about 
a week before he himself knew any thing of the matter. As 
soon as Sir Eoger was acquainted with it, finding that his 
servant's indiscretion proceeded wholly from affection and good- 
will, he only told him that he had paid him too high a compli- 
ment ; and, when the fellow seemed to think that could hardly 
be, added, with a more decisive look, that it was too great an 
honour for any man under a duke ; but told him at the same 
time, that it might be altered with a very few touches, and 
that he himself would be at the charge of it. Accordingly 
they got a painter, by the knight's directions, to add a pair of 
whiskers to the face, and, by a little aggravation to the features, 
to change it into the Saracen's head. I should not have known 
this story, had not the innkeeper, upon Sir Eoger's alighting, 
told him in my hearing, that his honour's head was brought 
last night with the alterations that he had ordered to be made 
in it. Upon this my friend, with his usual cheerfulness, related 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 117 

the particulars above mentioned, and ordered the head to be 
brought into the room. I could not forbear discovering greater 
expressions of mirth than ordinary upon the appearance of this 
monstrous face, under which, notwithstanding it was made to 
frown and stare in a most extraordinary manner, I could still 
discover a distant resemblance of my old friend. Sir Koger, 
upon seeing me laugh, desired me to tell him truly if I thought 
it possible for people to know him in that disguise. I at first 
kept my usual silence ; but upon the knight's conjuring me to 
tell him whether it was not still more like himself than a 
Saracen, I composed my countenance in the best manner I 
could, and replied, " that much might be said on both sides." 
These several adventures, with the knight's behaviour in 
them, gave me as pleasant a day as ever I met with in any 
of my travels. Addison. 



24. THE BUSINESS AND QUALIFICATIONS OF A POET. 

" Wherever I went, I found that poetry was considered as 
the highest learning, and regarded with a veneration some- 
what approaching to that which man would pay to the angelic 
nature. And it yet fills me with wonder, that, in almost all 
countries, the most ancient poets are considered as the best : 
whether it be that every other kind of knowledge is an ac- 
quisition gradually attained, and poetry is a gift conferred at 
once ; or that the first poetry of every nation surprised them 
as a novelty, and retained the credit by consent which it re- 
ceived by accident at first; or whether, as the province of 
poetry is to describe nature and passion, which are always the 
same, the first writers took possession of the most striking 
objects for description, and the most probable occurrences for 
fiction, and left nothing to those that followed them, but tran- 
scriptions of the same events, and new combinations of the 
same images. Whatever be the reason, it is commonly ob- 
served, that the early writers are in possession of nature, and 
their followers of art : that the first excel in strength and in- 
vention, and the lattes in elegance and refinement. 

" I was desirous to add my name to this illustrious fraternity. 



118 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

I read all the poets of Persia and Arabia, and was able to re- 
peat by memory the volumes that are suspended in the mosque 
of Mecca. But I soon found that no man was ever great by 
imitation. My desire of excellence impelled me to transfer 
my attention to nature and to life. Nature was to be my 
subject, and men to be my auditors ; I could never describe 
what I had not seen ; I could not hope to move those with 
delight or terror, whose interests and opinions I did not un- 
derstand. 

" Being now resolved to be a poet, I saw every thing with a 
new purpose ; my sphere of attention was suddenly magnified : 
no kind of knowledge was to be overlooked. I ranged moun- 
tains and deserts for images and resemblances, and pictured 
upon my mind every tree of the forest and flower of the valley. 
I observed with, equal care the crags of the rock and the pin- 
nacles of the palace. Sometimes I wandered along the mazes 
of the rivulet, and sometimes watched the changes of the 
summer clouds. To a poet nothing can be useless. Whatever 
is beautiful, and whatever is dreadful, must be familiar to his 
imagination ; he must be conversant with all that is awfully 
vast or elegantly little. The plants of the garden, the animals 
of the wood, the minerals of the earth, and meteors of the sky, 
must all concur to store his mind with inexhaustible variety : 
for every idea is useful for the enforcement or decoration of 
moral or religious truth ; and he, who knows most, will have 
most power of diversifying his scenes, and of gratifying his 
reader with remote allusions and unexpected instruction. 

" All the appearances of nature I was therefore careful to 
study, and every country which I have surveyed has contrib- 
uted something to my poetical powers." 

"In so wide a survey," said the prince, "you must surely 
have left much unobserved. I have lived, till now, within 
the circuit of these mountains, and yet cannot walk abroad 
without the sight of something which I never beheld before, 
or never heeded." 

" The business of a poet," said Imlac, "is to examine, not 
the individual, but the species ; to remark general properties 
and large appearances : he does not number the streaks of the 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 119 

tulip, or describe the different shades in the verdure of the 
forest. He is to exhibit in his portraits of nature such prom- 
inent and striking features, as recall the original to every 
mind; and must neglect the minuter discriminations, which 
one may have remarked, and another have neglected, for those 
characteristics which are alike obvious to vigilance and care- 
lessness. 

" But the knowledge of nature is only half the task of a 
poet ; he must be acquainted likewise with all the modes of 
life. His character requires that he estimate the happiness 
and misery of every condition, observe the power of all the 
passions in all their combinations, and trace the changes of 
the human mind as they are modified by various institutions, 
and accidental influences of climate or custom, from the spright- 
liness of infancy to the despondence of decrepitude. He must 
divest himself of the prejudices of his age or country ; he must 
consider right and wrong in their abstract and invariable state ; 
he must disregard present laws and opinions, and rise to gen- 
eral and transcendental truths, which will always be the same : 
he must therefore content himself with the slow progress of his 
name ; contemn the applause of his own time, and commit his 
claims to the justice of posterity. He must write as the inter- 
preter of nature, and the legislator of mankind, and consider 
himself as presiding over the thoughts and manners of future 
generations, as a being superior to time and place. 

" His labour is not yet at an end : he must know many lan- 
guages and many sciences ; and, that his style may be worthy 
of his thoughts, must, by incessant practice, familiarize to him- 
self every delicacy of speech and grace of harmony." 

Johnson's Rasselas. 



AND MODERN. 



'Tis manifest, that some particular ages have been more happy 
than others, in the production of great men, and all sorts of 
arts and sciences; as that of Euripides, Sophocles, Aristo- 



120 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

phanes, and the rest, for stage poetry, amongst the Greeks; 
that of Augustus for heroic, lyric, dramatic, elegiac, and indeed 
all sorts of poetry, in the persons of Virgil, Horace, Varius, 
Ovid, and many others ; especially if we take into that cen- 
tury the latter end of the Commonwealth, wherein we find 
Varro, Lucretius, and Catullus : and at the same time lived 
Cicero, Sallust, and Csesar. A famous age in modern times, 
for learning in every kind, was that of Lorenzo de Medici and 
his son Leo X., wherein painting was revived, poetry flour- 
ished, and the Greek language was restored. 

Examples in all these are obvious : but what I would infer 
is this, That in such an age, 'tis possible some great genius 
may arise to equal any of the ancients, abating only for the 
language ; for great contemporaries whet and cultivate each 
other ; and mutual borrowing, and commerce, makes the com- 
mon riches of learning, as it does of civil government. 

But suppose that Homer and Virgil were the only poets of 
their species, and that Nature was so much worn out in pro- 
ducing them, that she is never able to bear the like again; 
yet the example only holds in heroic poetry. In tragedy and 
satire, I offer myself to maintain, against some of our modern 
critics, that this age and the last, particularly in England, have 
excelled the ancients in both these kinds. 

Thus I might safely confine myself to my native country ; 
but if I would only cross the seas, I might find in France a 
living Horace and a Juvenal, in the person of the admirable 
Boileau, whose numbers are excellent, whose expressions are 
noble, whose thoughts are just, whose language is pure, whose 
satire is pointed, and whose sense is close. What he borrows 
from the ancients, he repays with usury of his own, in coin as 
good, and almost as universally valuable ; for, setting prejudice 
and partiality apart, though he is our enemy, the stamp of a 
Louis, the patron of arts, is not much inferior to the medal of 
an Augustus Caesar. 

Now, if it may be permitted me to go back again to the 
consideration of epic poetry, I have confessed that no man 
hitherto has reached, or so much as approached, to the excel- 
lencies of Homer or Virgil : I must further add, that Statius, 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 121 

the best versificator next Virgil, knew not how to design after 
him, though he had the model in his eye ; that Lucan is want- 
ing both in design and subject, and is besides too fall of heat 
and affection ; that, among the moderns, Ariosto neither de- 
signed justly, nor observed any unity of action' or compass of 
time, or moderation in the vastness of his draught : his style 
is luxurious, without majesty or decency ; and his adventures 
without the compass of nature and possibility. Tasso, whose 
design was regular, and who observed the rules of unity in 
time and place more closely than Virgil, yet was not so happy 
in his action ; he confesses himself to have been too lyrical, 
that is, to have written beneath the dignity of heroic verse, in 
his episodes of Sophronia, Erminia, and Armida ; his story is 
not so pleasing as Ariosto's ; he is too flatulent sometimes, and 
sometimes too dry ; many times unequal, and almost always 
forced ; and, besides, is full of conceptions, points of epigram, 
and witticisms ; all which are not only below the dignity of 
heroic verse, but contrary to its nature. Virgil and Homer 
have not one of them : and those who are guilty of so boyish 
an ambition in so grave a subject, are so far from being con- 
sidered as heroic poets, that they ought to be turned down 
from Homer to Anthologia, from Virgil to Martial and Owen's 
epigrams, and from Spenser to Flecknoe, that is, from the top to 
the bottom of all poetry. But to return to Tasso ; he borrows 
from the invention of Boiardo, and in his alteration of his poem, 
which is inhnitely the worst, imitates Homer so very servilely, 
that (for example) he gives the king of Jerusalem fifty sons, 
only because Homer had bestowed the like number on king 
Priam; he kills the youngest in the same manner, and has 
provided his hero with a Patroclus, under another name, only 
to bring him back to the wars, when his friend was killed. 
The French have performed nothing in this kind, which is not 
below those two Italians, and subject to a thousand more re- 
flections, without examining their St Louis, their Pucelle, or 
their Alarique. The English have only to boast of Spenser 
and Milton, who neither of them wanted either genius or learn- 
ing to have been perfect poets, and yet both of them are liable 
to many censures. Dryden. 

p 






122 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 



26. ON THE ILIAD OF HOMER. 



The subject of the Iliad must unquestionably be admitted to 
be, in the main, happily chosen. In the days of Homer, no 
object could be more splendid and dignified than the Trojan 
war. So great a confederacy of the Grecian states, under one 
leader, and the ten years' siege which they carried on against 
Troy, must have spread far abroad the renown of many military 
exploits, and interested all Greece in the traditions concerning 
the heroes who had most eminently signalized themselves. 
Upon these traditions Homer grounded his poem ; and though 
he lived, as is generally believed, only two or three centuries 
after the Trojan war, yet, through the want of written records, 
tradition must, by his time, have fallen into the degree of 
obscurity most proper for poetry ; and have left him at full 
liberty to mix as much fable as he pleased with the remains 
of true history. He has not chosen, for his subject, the whole 
Trojan war ; but, with great judgment, he has selected one 
part of it, the quarrel betwixt Achilles and Agamemnon, and 
the events to which that quarrel gave rise ; which, though 
they take up forty-seven days only, yet include the most inter- 
esting and most critical period of the war. By this management, 
he has given greater unity to what would have otherwise been 
an unconnected history of battles. He has gained one hero, 
or principal character, Achilles, who reigns throughout the 
work ; and he has shown the pernicious effect of discord among 
confederated princes. At the same time I admit that Homer 
is less fortunate in his subject than Virgil. The plan of the 
zEneid includes a greater compass, and a more agreeable di- 
versity of events ; whereas the Iliad is almost entirely filled 
with battles. 

The praise of high invention has in every age been given 
to Homer, with the greatest reason. The prodigious number 
of incidents, of speeches, of characters divine and human, with 
which he abounds ; the surprising variety with which he has 
diversified his battles, in the wounds and deaths, and little 
history-pieces of almost all the persons slain, discover an 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 123 

invention next to boundless. But the praise of judgment is, 
in my opinion, no less due to Homer than that of invention. 
His story is all along conducted with great art. He rises 
upon us gradually ; his heroes are brought out, one after 
another, to be objects of our attention. The distress thickens 
as the poem advances ; and every thing is so contrived, as to 
aggrandize Achilles, and to render him, as the poet intended 
he should be, the capital figure. 

But that wherein Homer excels all writers, is the charac- 
teristical part. Here he is without a rival. His lively and 
spirited exhibition of characters is, in a great measure, owing 
to his being so dramatic a writer, abounding everywhere with 
dialogue and conversation. There is much more dialogue in. 
Homer than in Virgil ; or, indeed, than in any other poet. 

Blaik. 



27. ON THE ODYSSEY OF HOMER. 

My observations, hitherto, have been made upon the Iliad 
only. It is necessary to take some notice of the Odyssey 
also. Longinus's criticism upon it is not without foundation, 
that Homer may, in this poem, be compared to the setting sun, 
whose grandeur still remains, without the heat of his meridian 
beams. It wants the vigour and sublimity of the Iliad ; yet, 
at the same time, possesses so many beauties, as to be justly 
entitled to high praise. It is a very amusing poem, and has 
much greater variety than the Iliad ; it contains many inter- 
esting stories and beautiful descriptions. We see everywhere 
the same descriptive and dramatic genius, and the same fertility 
of invention, that appears in the other work. It descends indeed 
from the dignity of gods, and heroes, and warlike achievements ; 
but, in recompense, we have more pleasing pictures of ancient 
manners. Instead of that ferocity which reigns in the Iliad, 
the Odyssey presents us with the most amiable images of hos- 
pitality and humanity ; entertains us with many a wonderful 
adventure, and many a landscape of nature ; and instructs us 
by a constant vein of morality and virtue, which runs through 
the poem. Blair. 



124 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

28. ON THE BEAUTIES OF VrRGIL. 

Virgil possesses beauties which have justly drawn the admi- 
ration of ages, and which, to this day, hold the balance in 
equilibrium between his fame and that of Homer. The principal 
and distinguishing excellency of Virgil, and which, in my 
opinion, he possesses beyond all poets, is tenderness. Nature 
had endowed him with exquisite sensibility ; he felt every affect- 
ing circumstance in the scenes he describes ; and, by a single 
stroke, he knows how to reach the heart. This, in an epic poem, 
is the merit next to sublimity ; and puts it in an author's power 
to render his composition extremely interesting to all readers. 

The chief beauty, of this kind, in the Iliad, is the interview 
of Hector with Andromache. But, in the iEneid, there are 
many such. The second book is one of the greatest master- 
pieces that ever was executed by any hand ; and Virgil seems 
to have put forth there the whole strength of his genius, as 
the subject afforded a variety of scenes, both of the awful and 
tender kind. The images of horror, presented by a city burned 
and sacked in the night, are finely mixed with pathetic and 
affecting incidents. Nothing, in any poet, is more beautifully 
described than the death of old Priam; and the family-pieces 
of iEneas, Anchises, and Creusa, are as tender as can be con- 
ceived. In many passages of the iEneid the same pathetic spirit 
shines ; and they have been always the favourite passages in 
that work. The fourth book, for instance, relating the unhappy 
passion and death of Dido, has been always most justly admired, 
and abounds with beauties of the highest kind. The interview 
of iEneas with Andromache and Helenus, in the third book ; 
the episodes of Pallas and Evander, of Nisus and Euryalus, of 
Lausus and Mezentius, in the Italian wars, are all striking in- 
stances of the poet's power of raising the tender emotions. For 
we must observe, that though the iEneid be an unequal poem, 
and, in some places, languid, yet there are beauties scattered 
through it all ; and not a few, even in the last six books. The 
best and most finished books, upon the whole, are the first, the 
second, the fourth, the sixth, the seventh, the eighth, and the 
twelfth. Blair. 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 125 



29. SIEGE AND CONQUEST OF JERUSALEM BY THE CRUSADERS. 

Jerusalem lias derived some reputation from the number and 
importance of her memorable sieges. It was not till after a 
long and obstinate contest that Babylon and Eome could pre- 
vail against the obstinacy of the people, the craggy ground 
that might supersede the necessity of fortifications, and the 
walls and towers that would have fortified the most accessible 
plain. These obstacles were diminished in the age of the 
crusades. The bulwarks had been completely destroyed and 
imperfectly restored : the Jews, their nation, and worship, 
were for ever banished; but nature is less changeable than 
man, and the site of Jerusalem, though somewhat softened 
and somewhat removed, was still strong against the assaults 
of an enemy. By the experience of a recent siege and a three 
years' possession, the Saracens of Egypt had been taught to 
discern, and in some degree to remedy, the defects of a place 
which religion as well as honour forbade them to resign. Ala- 
din, or Iftikhar, the caliph's lieutenant, was intrusted with the 
defence ; his policy strove to restrain the native Christians by 
the dread of their own ruin and that of the holy sepulchre ; to 
animate the Moslems by the assurance of temporal and eternal 
rewards. His garrison is said to have consisted of forty thou- 
sand Turks and Arabians ; and, if he could muster twenty 
thousand of the inhabitants, it must be confessed that the be- 
sieged were more numerous than the besieging army. Had 
the diminished strength and numbers of the Latins allowed 
them to grasp the whole circumference of four thousand yards 
(about two English miles and a half), to what useful purpose 
should they have descended into the valley of Ben Hinnom 
and torrent of Cedron, or approached the precipices of the 
south and east, from whence they had nothing either to hope 
or fear ? Their siege was more reasonably directed against 
the northern and western sides of the city. Godfrey of Bouil- 
lon erected his standard on the first swell of Mount Calvary ; 
to the left, as far as St Stephen's gate, the line of attack was 
continued by Tancred and the two Eoberts ; and Count Kay- 



126 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS, 

mond established his quarters from the citadel to the foot of 
Mount Sion, which was no longer included within the pre- 
cincts of the city. On the fifth day, the crusaders made a 
general assault, in the fanatic hope of battering down the walls 
without engines, and of scaling them without ladders. By the 
dint of brutal force, they burst the first barrier, but they were 
driven back with shame and slaughter to the camp ; the in- 
fluence of vision and prophecy was deadened by the too frequent 
abuse of those pious stratagems ; and time and labour were found 
to be the only means of victory. The time of the siege was 
indeed fulfilled in forty days, but they were forty days of 
calamity and anguish. A repetition of the old complaint of 
famine may be imputed in some degree to the voracious or dis- 
orderly appetite of the Franks ; but the stony soil of Jerusalem 
is almost destitute of water ; the scanty springs and hasty tor- 
rents were dry in the summer season ; nor was the thirst of 
the besiegers relieved, as in the city, by the artificial supply 
of cisterns and aqueducts. The circumjacent country is equally 
destitute of trees for the uses of shade or building ; but some 
large beams were discovered in a cave by the crusaders : a 
wood near Sichem, the enchanted grove of Tasso, was cut down ; 
the necessary timber was transported to the camp by the vig- 
our and dexterity of Tancred ; and the engines were framed 
by some Genoese artists, who had fortunately landed in the 
harbour of Jaffa. Two movable turrets were constructed at 
the expense, and in the stations, of the Duke of Lorraine and 
the Count of Tholouse, and rolled forwards with devout labour, 
not to the most accessible, but to the most neglected parts of 
the fortification. Raymond's Tower was reduced to ashes by 
the fire of the besieged, but his colleague was more vigilant 
and successful ; the enemies were driven by his archers from 
the rampart ; the drawbridge was let down ; and on a Friday, 
at three in the afternoon, the day and hour of the Passion, 
Godfrey of Bouillon stood victorious on the walls of Jerusalem. 
His example was followed on every side by the emulation of 
valour ; and about four hundred and sixty years after the con- 
quest of Omar, the holy city was rescued from the Mahometan 
yoke. In the pillage of public and private wealth, the adven- 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 127 

turers had agreed to respect the exclusive property of the first 
occupant, and the spoils of the great mosque, seventy lamps 
and massy vases of gold and silver, rewarded the diligence and 
displayed the generosity of Tancred. A bloody sacrifice was 
offered by his mistaken votaries to the God of the Christians ; 
resistance might provoke, but neither age nor sex could mollify 
their implacable rage ; they indulged themselves three days in 
a promiscuous massacre, and the infection of the dead bodies 
produced an epidemical disease. After seventy thousand Mos- 
lems had been put to the sword, and the harmless Jews had 
been burnt in their synagogue, they could still reserve a mul- 
titude of captives, whom interest or lassitude persuaded them 
to spare. Of these savage heroes of the cross, Tancred alone 
betrayed some sentiments of compassion ; yet we may praise 
the more selfish lenity of Eaymond, who granted a capitulation 
and safe conduct to the garrison of the citadel. The holy 
sepulchre was now free, and the bloody victors prepared to ac- 
complish their vow. Bareheaded and barefoot, with contrite 
hearts, and in an humble posture, they ascended the hill of 
Calvary, amidst the loud anthems of the clergy ; kissed the 
stone which had covered the Saviour of the world, and bedewed 
with tears of joy and penitence the monument of their redemp- 
tion. This union of the fiercest and most tender passions has 
been variously considered by two philosophers; by the one, 
as easy and natural ; by the other, as absurd and incredible. 
Perhaps it is too rigorously applied to the same persons and 
the same hour : the example of the virtuous Godfrey awakened 
the piety of his companions ; while they cleansed their bodies, 
they purified their minds ; nor shall I believe that the most 
ardent in slaughter and rapine were the foremost in the pro- 
cession to the holy sepulchre. 

Eight days after this memorable event, the Latin chiefs pro- 
ceeded to the election of a king, to guard and govern their 
conquests in Palestine. The jealousy and ambition of Kay- 
mond were condemned by his own followers, and the free, the 
just, the unanimous voice of the army proclaimed Godfrey of 
Bouillon the first and most worthy of the champions of Chris- 
tendom. His magnanimity accepted a trust as full of danger 



128 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

as of glory ; but in a city where his Saviour had been crowned 
with thorns, the devout pilgrim rejected the name and ensigns 
of royalty ; and the founder of the kingdom of Jerusalem con- 
tented himself with the modest title of Defender and Baron of 
the Holy Sepulchre. Gibbon. 



30. THE CHARACTER OF HAMLET. 

Hamlet is one of Shakspeare's plays that we think of the often- 
est, because it abounds most in striking reflections on human 
life, and because his distresses are transferred, by the turn 
of his mind, to the general account of humanity. Whatever 
happens to him we apply to ourselves, because he applies 
it to himself as a means of general reasoning. He is a great 
moralizer ; and what makes him more attended to is, that he 
moralizes on his own feelings and experience. He is not a 
common-place pedant. If Lear is distinguished by the great- 
est depth of passion, Hamlet is the most remarkable for the 
ingenuity, originality, and unstudied development of character. 
Shakspeare has more magnanimity than any other poet, and 
he has shown more of it in this play than in any other. There 
is no attempt to force an interest ; everything is left for time 
and circumstances to unfold. The attention is excited without 
effort ; the incidents succeed each other as matters of course ; 
the characters think, and speak, and act, just as they might 
do if left entirely to themselves. There is no set purpose, no 
straining at a point. The observations are suggested by the 
passing scene ; the gusts of passion come and go like sounds 
of music borne on the wind. The whole play is an exact tran- 
script of what might be supposed to have taken place at the 
remote period of time fixed upon, before the modern refinements 
in morals and manners were heard of. It would have been in- 
teresting enough to have been admitted as a bystander in such 
a scene, at such a time, to have heard and witnessed something 
of what was going on. But here we are more than spectators. 
We have not only "the outward pageants and the signs of 
grief," but "we have that within which passes show." We 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 129 

read the thoughts of the heart, we " catch the passions living 
as they rise." Other dramatic writers give ns very fine ver- 
sions and paraphrases of nature, but Shakspeare, together with 
his own comments, gives us the original text, that we may 
judge for ourselves. This is a great advantage. 

The character of Hamlet stands quite by itself. It is not 
a character marked by strength of will or even of passion, but 
by refinement of thought and sentiment. Hamlet is as little of 
the hero as a man can well be ; but he is a young and princely 
novice, full of high enthusiasm and quick sensibility, the sport 
of circumstances, questioning with fortune, and refining on his 
own feelings, and forced from the natural bias of his disposition 
by the strangeness of his situation. He seems incapable of 
deliberate action, and is only hurried into extremities on the 
spur of the occasion, when he has no time to reflect, as in the 
scene where he kills Polonius ; and again, where he alters the 
letters which Eosencrantz and Gruildenstern are taking with 
them to England, purporting his death. At other times when 
most bound to act, he remains puzzled, undecided, and scep- 
tical ; dallies with his purposes till the occasion is lost, and 
finds out some pretence to relapse into indolence and thought- 
fulness again. For this reason he refuses to kill the king when 
he is at his prayers ; and, by a refinement in malice, which in 
truth is only an excuse for his own want of resolution, defers 
his revenge to a more fatal opportunity. Hazlitt. 



31. WIT AND HUMOUR. 

Wit and humour have, I fear, an injurious effect upon the 
character and disposition. I am not speaking of wit where it 
is kept down by more serious qualities of mind, and thrown 
into the background of the picture, but where it stands out 
boldly and emphatically, and is evidently the master quality 
in any particular mind. Profound wits, though generally 
courted for the amusement they afford, are seldom respected 
for the qualities they possess. The habit of seeing things in 

f2 



130 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

a witty point of view increases, and makes incursions, from its 
own proper regions, upon principles and opinions which are 
ever held sacred by the wise and good. A witty man is a 
dramatic performer : in process of time he can no more exist 
without applause, than he can exist without air ; if his audi- 
ence be small, or if they be inattentive, or if a new wit defraud 
him of any portion of his admiration, it is all over with him — 
he sickens and is extinguished. The applauses of the theatre 
on which he performs are essential to him, and he must obtain 
them at the expense of decency, friendship, and good feeling. 
It must always be probable, too, that a mere wit is a person of 
light and frivolous understanding. His business is not to dis- 
cover relations of ideas that are useful and have a real influence 
upon life, but to discover the more trifling relations which are 
only amusing ; he never looks at things with the naked eye 
of common sense, but is always gazing at the world through 
a Claude Lorraine glass, — discovering a thousand appearances 
which are created only by the instrument of inspection, and 
covering every object with factitious and unnatural colours. 
In short, the character of a mere wit it is impossible to con- 
sider as very amiable, very respectable, or very safe. So far 
the world, in judging of wit where it has swallowed up all 
other qualities, judge aright ; but I doubt if they are suffi- 
ciently indulgent to this faculty where it exists in a lesser 
degree, and as one out of many other ingredients of the under- 
standing. There is an association in men's minds between 
dulness and wisdom, amusement and folly, which has a power- 
ful influence in decision upon character, and is not overcome 
without considerable difficulty. The reason is, that the outward 
signs of a dull man and a wise man are the same, and so are 
the outward signs of a frivolous man and a witty man ; and 
we are not to expect that the majority will be disposed to look 
to much more than the outward sign. I believe the fact to 
be, that wit is very seldom the only eminent quality which 
resides in the mind of any man ; it is commonly accompanied 
by many other talents of every description, and ought to be 
considered as a strong evidence of a fertile and superior under- 
standing. Almost all the great poets, orators, and statesmen 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 131 

of all times have been witty. Csesar, Alexander, Aristotle, 
Descartes, and Lord Bacon, were witty men ; so were Cicero, 
Shakspeare, Demosthenes, Boileau, Pope, Dryden, Fontenelle, 
Jonson, Waller, Cowley, Solon, Socrates, Dr Johnson, and 
almost every man who has made a distinguished figure in the 
House of Commons. I have talked of the danger of wit; I do not 
mean by that to enter into common-place declamation against 
faculties because they are dangerous ; wit is dangerous, elo- 
quence is dangerous, a talent for observation is dangerous, 
every thing is dangerous that has efficacy and vigour for its 
characteristics ; nothing is safe but mediocrity. The business 
is, in conducting the understanding well, to risk something ; 
to aim at uniting things that are commonly incompatible. The 
meaning of an extraordinary man is, that he is eight men, not 
one man ; that he has as much wit as if he had no sense, and 
as much sense as if he had no wit; that his conduct is as 
judicious as if he were the dullest of human beings, and his 
imagination as brilliant as if he were irretrievably ruined. 
But when wit is combined with sense and information ; when 
it is softened by benevolence, and restrained by strong prin- 
ciple ; when it is in the hands of a man who can use it and 
despise it, who can be witty, and something much better than 
witty ; who loves honour, justice, decency, good nature, mo- 
rality, and religion ten thousand times better than wit ; — wit 
is then a beautiful and delightful part of our nature. There 
is no more interesting spectacle than to see the effects of wit 
upon the different characters of men, than to observe it ex- 
panding caution, relaxing dignity, unfreezing coldness — teach- 
ing age, and care, and pain, to smile — extorting reluctant 
gleams of pleasure from melancholy, and charming even the 
pangs of grief. It is pleasant to observe how it penetrates 
through the coldness and awkwardness of society, gradually 
bringing men nearer together, and, like the combined force 
of wine and oil, giviDg every man a glad heart and shining 
countenance. Genuine and innocent wit like this is surely 
the flavour of the mind! Man could direct his ways by plain 
reason, and support his life by tasteless food; but God has 
given us wit, and flavour, and brightness, and laughter, and 



132 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

perfumes, to enliven the days of man's pilgrimage, and to " charm 
his pained steps over the burning marie." Sydney Smith. 



32. — field sports and agriculture op the middle ages. 

The favourite diversions of the Middle Ages in the intervals 
of war were those of hunting and hawking. The former must 
in all countries be a source of pleasure ; but it seems to have 
been enjoyed in moderation by the Greeks and Romans. With 
the northern invaders, however, it was rather a predominant 
appetite than an amusement ; it was their pride and their or- 
nament, the theme of their songs, the object of their laws, and 
the business of their lives. Falconry, unknown as a diversion 
to the ancients, became from the fourth century an equally 
delightful occupation. From the Salic and other barbarous 
codes of the fifth century to the close of the period under our 
review, every age would furnish testimony to the ruling pas- 
sion for these two species of chase, or, as they were sometimes 
called, the mysteries of woods and rivers. A knight seldom 
stirred from his house without a falcon on his wrist, or a 
greyhound that followed him. Thus are Harold and his at- 
tendants represented in the famous tapestry of Bayeux. And 
in the monuments of those who died any where but on the 
field of battle, it is usual to find the greyhound lying at their 
feet, or the bird upon their wrist. Nor are the tombs of ladies 
without their falcon ; for this diversion, being of less danger 
and fatigue than the chase, was shared by the delicate sex. 

It was impossible to repress the eagerness with which the 
clergy, especially after the barbarians had been tempted by 
rich bishoprics to take upon them the sacred functions, rushed 
into these secular amusements. Prohibitions of councils, how- 
ever frequently repeated, produced little effect. An arch- 
bishop of York, in 1321, seems to have carried a train of two 
hundred persons, who were maintained at the expense of the 
abbeys, on his visitations, and to have hunted with a pack of 
hounds from parish to parish. The third council of Lateran, 
in 1180, had prohibited this amusement on such journeys, and 
restricted bishops to a train of forty or fifty horses. 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 133 

Though hunting had ceased to be a necessary means of pro- 
curing food, it was a very convenient resource on which the 
wholesomeness and comfort as well as the luxury of the table 
depended. Before the natural pastures were improved, and 
new kinds of fodder for cattle discovered, it was impossible to 
maintain the summer stock during the cold season. Hence a 
portion of it was regularly slaughtered and salted for winter 
provision. We may suppose that when no alternative was 
offered but these salted meats, even the leanest venison was 
devoured with relish. There was somewhat more excuse there- 
fore for the severity with which the lords of forests and manors 
preserved the beasts of the chase, than if they had been con- 
sidered as merely objects of sport. The laws relating to pre- 
servation of game were in every country uncommonly rigorous. 
They formed in England that odious system of forest laws 
which distinguished the tyranny of our "Norman kings. Cap- 
ital punishment for killing a stag or wild boar was frequent, 
and perhaps warranted by law until the charter of John. The 
French code was less severe ; but even Henry IV. enacted the 
pain of death against the repeated offence of chasing deer in 
the royal forests. The privilege of hunting was reserved to 
the nobility till the reign of Louis IX., who extended it in 
some degree to persons of lower birth. 

This excessive passion for the sports of the field produced 
those evils which are apt to result from it ; a strenuous idle- 
ness, which disdained all useful occupations, and an oppressive 
spirit towards the peasantry. The devastation committed under 
the pretence of destroying wild animals, which had been al- 
ready protected in their depredations, is noticed in serious 
authors, and has also been the topic of popular ballads. What 
effect this must have had on agriculture it is easy to conjec- 
ture. The levelling of forests, the draining of morasses, and 
the extirpation of mischievous animals which inhabit them, are 
the first objects of man's labour in reclaiming the earth to his 
use ; and these were forbidden by a landed aristocracy, whose 
control over the progress of agricultural improvement was un- 
limited, and who had not yet learned to sacrifice their pleasures 
to their avarice. 



134 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

These habits of the rich, and the miserable servitude of 
those who cultivated the land, rendered its fertility unavailing. 
Predial servitude, indeed, in some of its modifications, has al- 
ways been the great bar to improvement. In the agricultural 
economy of Kome, the labouring husbandman, the menial slave 
of some wealthy senator, had not even that qualified interest in 
the soil which the tenure of villanage afforded to the peasant 
of feudal ages. Italy, therefore, a country presenting many 
natural impediments, was but imperfectly reduced into culti- 
vation before the irruption of the barbarians. That revolution 
destroyed agriculture with every other art; and succeeding 
calamities during five or six centuries left the finest regions of 
Europe unfruitful and desolate. There are but two possible 
modes in which the produce of the earth can be increased ; 
one by rendering fresh land serviceable ; the other by im- 
proving the fertility of that which is already cultivated. The 
last is only attainable by the application of capital and of skill 
to agriculture ; neither of which could be expected in the ruder 
ages of society. The former is, to a certain extent, always 
practicable whilst waste lands remain ; but it was checked by 
laws hostile to improvement, such as the manorial and com- 
monable rights in England, and by the general tone of man- 
ners. Hallam. 



33. THE ANT-HILL A LESSON TO HUMAN PRIDE. 

If there be any thing which makes human nature appear ridic- 
ulous to beings of superior faculties, it must be pride. They 
know so well the vanity of those imaginary perfections, that 
swell the heart of man, and of those little supernumerary ad- 
vantages whether in birth, fortune, or title, which one man 
enjoys above another, that it must certainly very much astonish, 
if it does not very much divert them, when they see a mortal 
puffed up, and valuing himself above his neighbours on any of 
these accounts, at the same time that he is obnoxious to all the 
common calamities of the species. 

To set this thought in its true light, we will fancy, if you 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 135 

please, that yonder molehill is inhabited by reasonable crea- 
tures, and that every pismire, his shape and way of life only 
excepted, is endowed with human passions. How should we 
smile to hear one give us an account of the pedigrees, distinc- 
tions, and titles, that reign among them ! Observe how the 
whole swarm divide and make way for the pismire that passes 
through them ! You must understand he is an emmet of qual- 
ity, and has better blood in his veins than any pismire in the 
molehill. Do not you see how sensible he is of it, how slowly 
he marches forward, how the whole rabble of ants keep their 
distance? Here you may observe one placed upon a little 
eminence, and looking down on a long row of labourers. He 
is the richest insect on this side the hillock ; he has a walk of 
half a yard in length, and a quarter of an inch in breadth ; he 
keeps a hundred menial servants, and has at least fifteen barley- 
corns in his granary. He is now chiding and beslaving the 
emmet that stands before him, and who, for all that we can 
discover, is as good an emmet as himself. But here comes an 
insect of figure. Do not you take notice of a little white straw 
that he carries in his mouth ? That straw, you must under- 
stand, he would not part with for the longest tract about the 
molehill ; did you but know what he has undergone to purchase 
it ! See how the ants of all qualities and conditions swarm 
about him ! Should this straw drop out of his mouth, you 
would see all this numerous circle of attendants follow the next 
that took it up, and leave the discarded insect, or run over his 
back to come at his successor. 

If now you have a mind to see all the ladies of the mole- 
hill, observe first the pismire that listens to the emmet on her 
left hand, at the same time that she seems to turn away her 
head from him. He tells this poor insect that she is a goddess, 
that her eyes are brighter than the sun, that life and death are 
at her disposal. She believes him, and gives herself a thousand 
little airs upon it. Mark the vanity of the pismire on your 
left hand. She can scarcely crawl with age ; but you must 
know she values herself upon her birth ; and, if you mind, 
spurns at every one that comes within her reach. The little 
nimble coquette that is running along by the side of her is a 



136 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

wit. She has broken many a pismire's heart. Do but observe 
what a drove of lovers are running after her. 

We will now finish this imaginary scene ; but, first of all, to 
draw the parallel closer, will suppose, if you please, that death 
comes down upon the molehill, in the shape of a cock-sparrow, 
who picks up without distinction the pismire of quality and 
his flatterers, the pismire of substance and his day-labourers, 
the white -straw officer and his sycophants, with all the god- 
desses, wits, and beauties of the molehill. May we not imagine 
that beings of superior natures and perfections regard all the 
instances of pride and vanity among our species in the same 
kind of view, when they take a survey of those who inhabit 
the earth ; or, in the language of an ingenious French poet, of 
those pismires that people this heap of dirt, which human van- 
ity has divided into climates and regions ? Addison. 



34. INVENTION AND USE OF GUNPOWDER. 

The only hope of salvation for the Greek empire and the ad- 
jacent kingdoms would have been some more powerful weapon, 
some discovery in the art of war, that should give them a deci- 
sive superiority over their Turkish foes. Such a weapon was 
in their hands ; such a discovery had been made in the critical 
moment of their fate. The chemists of China or Europe had 
found, by casual or elaborate experiments, that a mixture of 
saltpetre, sulphur, and charcoal, produces, with a spark of fire, 
a tremendous explosion. It was soon observed, that if the 
expansive force were compressed in a strong tube, a ball of 
stone or iron might be expelled with irresistible and destruc- 
tive velocity. The precise era of the invention and application 
of gunpowder is involved in doubtful traditions and equivocal 
language ; yet we may clearly discern that it was known before 
the middle of the fourteenth century ; and that before the end 
of the same, the use of artillery in battles and sieges, by sea 
and land, was familiar to the states of Germany, Italy, Spain, 
France, and England. The priority of nations is of small ac- 
count; none could derive any exclusive benefit from their 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 137 

previous or superior knowledge ; and in the common improve- 
ment they stood on the same level of relative power and military- 
science. Nor was it possible to circumscribe the secret within 
the pale of the church ; it was disclosed to the Turks by the 
treachery of apostates and the selfish policy of rivals ; and the 
sultans had sense to adopt, and wealth to reward, the talents 
of a Christian engineer. The Genoese, who transported Amu- 
rath into Europe, must be accused as his preceptors ; and it 
was probably by their hands that his cannon was cast and 
directed at the siege of Constantinople. The first attempt was 
indeed unsuccessful ; but in the general warfare of the age, the 
advantage was on their side who were most commonly the as- 
sailants. For a while the proportion of the attack and defence 
was suspended ; and this thundering artillery was pointed against 
the walls and towers, which had been erected only to resist the 
less potent engines of antiquity. By the Venetians the use of 
gunpowder was communicated without reproach to the sultans 
of Egypt and Persia, their allies against the Ottoman power ; 
the secret was soon propagated to the extremities of Asia ; and 
the advantage of the European was confined to his easy vic- 
tories over the savages of the new world. If we contrast the 
rapid progress of this mischievous discovery with the slow and 
laborious advances of reason, science, and the arts of peace, a 
philosopher, according to his temper, will laugh or weep at the 
folly of mankind. Gibbon. 



35. INCENTIVES TO EXERTION. 

Let me, who have not survived my sympathies with the feel- 
ings of youth, who drank from the same pure spring at which 
you allay the thirst for knowledge, who have felt the glow of 
your emulation — let me, after being engaged in the active scenes 
of public life, and buffeted by the storms of political party — 
let me bring the living testimony of experience to confirm the 
truth of those precepts which you hear from the higher au- 
thority of the distinguished men, of whom your instruction is 
the peculiar province. 



138 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

Let me assure you, with all the earnestness of deep convic- 
tion, that your success, your eminence, your happiness, are 
much less dependent on the caprices of fortune, infinitely more 
within your own control, than to superficial observers they 
appear to be. There lies before you a boundless field of exer- 
tion. Whatever be your pursuit, whatever the profession you 
choose, the avenues to honourable fame are widely open to you. 
The great ocean of truth lies expanded before you. " I do not 
know," said Newton, at the close of his illustrious career ; "I 
do not know what I may appear to the world, but to myself I 
seem only like a boy playing on the seashore, finding some- 
times a brighter pebble or a smoother shell than ordinary, 
while the great ocean of truth lies all undiscovered before me." 
Each advance in knowledge has served to extend it on every 
side ; it has served like the telescope to make us familiar with 
objects before but imperfectly comprehended ; it has shown us 
the comparative nothingness of human knowledge. 

I have said that the field for exertion is boundless ; I have 
said that the avenues to distinction are free ; and that it is 
within your power to command an entrance to them. I am 
the son of a man who founded his own fortune, by dint of 
honest and laborious exertion in those very pursuits of active 
industry which are still elevating so many to affluence and to 
honourable station ; yet by the favour and confidence of my 
sovereign, I have been called to the highest trust which a 
subject can execute, that of administering the government of 
this great country. I repeat, there is a presumption amounting 
almost to certainty, that if any one of you will determine to be 
eminent, in whatever profession you may choose, and will act 
with unvarying steadiness in pursuance of that determination, 
you will, if health and strength be given you, infallibly suc- 
ceed. Yes, if even what is called genius shall have been de- 
nied to you, you have faculties of the mind, which may be so 
improved by constant exercise and vigilance, that they shall 
supply the place of genius, and open to you brighter prospects 
of ultimate success than genius, unaided by discipline, can hope 
to attain. There may be — there are, no doubt — original dif- 
ferences in different persons, in the depth and in the quality of 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 131) 

the intellectual mine ; but in all ordinary cases, the practical 
success of the working of the mine depends, in by far the 
greatest degree, upon the care, the labour, the perfection of 
the machinery which is applied to it. Do I say that you can 
command success without difficulty ? No ; difficulty is the con- 
dition of success. " Difficulty is a severe instructor set over us 
by the supreme ordinance of a parental guardian and legislator 
who knows us better than we know ourselves, as he loves us 
better too. He that wrestles with us, strengthens our nerves, 
and sharpens our skill. Our antagonist is our helper. This 
amicable conflict with difficulty obliges us to an intimate ac- 
quaintance with our object, and compels us to consider it in all 
its relations. It will not suffer us to be superficial." These 
are the memorable words of the first of philosophic statesmen 
— the illustrious Mr Burke. Enter then into the amicable 
conflict with difficulty. Whenever you encounter it, turn not 
aside; say not "there is a lion in the path;" resolve upon 
mastering it; and every successive triumph will inspire you 
with that confidence in yourselves, that habit of victory, which 
will make future conquests easy. 

Practise the economy of time ; consider time, like the facul- 
ties of your mind, a precious estate — that every moment of it, 
well applied, is put out to an exorbitant interest. I do not 
say, devote yourselves to unremitting labour, and forego all 
amusement ; but I do say, that the zest of amusement itself, as 
the result of successful application, depends in a great measure 
upon the economy of time. If you will consider our faculties 
as the gift of nature, by far the first in value — if you will be 
persuaded, as you ought to be, that they are capable of constant, 
progressive, and, therefore, almost indefinite improvement — that 
by arts similar to those by which magic feats of dexterity and 
bodily strength are performed, a capacity for the nobler feats 
of the mind may be acquired — the first, the especial object of 
your youth, will be to establish that control over your own 
minds, and your own habits, which shall ensure the proper cul- 
tivation of this precious inheritance. 

From an Address to Glasgow Students — Sir Eobert Peel. 



140 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 



36. THE WORLD MADE WITH A BOUNTIFUL DESIGN. 

It is a happy world after all. The air, the earth, the water, 
teem with delighted existence. In a spring- noon or summer 
evening, on whichever side I turn my eyes, myriads of happy 
beings crowd upon my view. " The insect youth are on the 
wing." Swarms of new-born flies are trying their pinions in 
the air. Their sportive motions, their wanton mazes, their 
gratuitous activity, their continual change of place without 
use or purpose, testify their joy, and the exultation which they 
feel in their lately discovered faculties. A bee amongst the 
flowers in spring is one of the most cheerful objects that can 
be looked upon. Its life appears to be all enjoyment, so busy 
and so pleased ; yet it is only a specimen of insect life, with 
which, by reason of the animal being half-domesticated, we 
happen to be better acquainted than we are with that of others. 
The whole winged insect tribe, it is probable, are equally in- 
tent upon their proper enjoyments ; and under every variety 
of constitution gratified, and perhaps equally gratified, by the 
offices which the author of their nature has assigned to them. 

Paley. 



37. FAME, a commendable PASSION. 

I can by no means agree' with you in thinking, that the love 
of fame is a passion, which either reason' or religion" condemns. 
I confess, indeed, there are some' who have represented it as 
inconsistent with both"; and I remember, in particular, the 
excellent author of The Keligion of Nature Delineated', has 
treated it as highly irrational' and absurd". But surely " 'twere 
to consider too curiously 7 / ' as Horatio says to Hamlet, " to con- 
sider thus"." For though fame with posterity should be, in 
the strict' analysis of it, no other than a mere uninteresting 
proposition", amounting to nothing more than that somebody 
acted meritoriously' ; yet it would not necessarily follow', that 
true philosophy would banish" the desire of it from the human 
breast. For this passion may' be (as most certainly' it is) 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 141 

wisely' implanted in our species, notwithstanding the corre- 
sponding object should in reality' be very different from what 
it appears in imagination'. Do not many of our most refined' 
and even contemplative" pleasures owe their existence to our 
mistakes'? It is but extending' (I will not say, improving') 
some of our senses to a higher degree of acuteness than we now' 
possess them, to make the fairest views of nature", or the no- 
blest productions of art', appear horrid' and deformed". To 
see things as they truly" and in themselves' are, would not al- 
ways, perhaps, be of advantage to us in the intellectual' world, 
any more than in the natural". But, after all, who shall cer- 
tainly assure us, that the pleasure of virtuous fame dies' with 
its possessor, and reaches not to a farther" scene of existence ? 
There is nothing, it should seem, either absurd or unphilosoph- 
ical in supposing it possible' at least, that the praises of the 
good' and the judicious", that sweetest music to an honest ear 
in this' world, may be echoed back to the mansions of the 
next" ; that the poet's description of Fancy' may be literally 
true", and though she walks upon earth', she may yet lift her 
head into heaven". 

But can it be reasonable to extinguish" a passion which na- 
ture has universally lighted up' in the human breast, and which 
we constantly find to burn with most strength and brightness 
in the noblest" and best' formed bosoms ? Accordingly revela- 
tion is so far from endeavouring (as you suppose) to eradicate' 
the seed which nature has deeply planted, that she rather 
seems, on the contrary', to cherish and forward" its growth. 
To be exalted with honour", and to be had in everlasting re- 
membrance', are in the number of those encouragements which 
the Jewish' dispensation offered to the virtuous" ; as the person 
from whom the sacred Author of the Christian system received 
his birth', is herself" represented as rejoicing that all genera- 
tions' should call her blessed". 

To be convinced' of the great advantage of cherishing this 
high regard to posterity, this noble desire of an after-life in 
the breath of others', one need only look back upon the history 
of the ancient Greeks' and Komans". What other' principle 
was it, which produced that exalted strain of virtue in those' 



142 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

days, that may well serve as a model to these". "Was it not 
the concurrent approbation of the good", the uncorrupted ap- 
plause of the wise', (as Tully calls it), that animated their most 
generous" pursuits ? 

To confess the truth, I have been ever inclined to think it 
a very dangerous" attempt, to endeavour to lessen' the motives 
of right conduct, or to raise any suspicion" concerning their 
solidity. The tempers and dispositions of mankind are so ex- 
tremely different', that it seems necessary they should be called 
into action by a variety" of incitements. Thus, while some" 
are willing to wed Virtue for her personal' charms, others' are 
engaged to take her for the sake of her expected dowry" : and 
since her followers and admirers have so little hopes from her 
at present', it were pity, methinks, to reason them out of any 
imagined' advantage in reversion". Fitzosborne's Letters. 



38. — the works of creation. 

I was yesterday about sunset walking in the open fields, until 
the night insensibly fell upon me. I at first amused myself 
with all the richness and variety of colours which appeared in 
the western parts of heaven. In proportion as they faded away 
and went out, several stars and planets appeared one after an- 
other, until the whole firmament was in a glow. The blueness 
of the ether was exceedingly heightened and enlivened by the 
season of the year, and by the rays of all those luminaries that 
passed through it. The galaxy appeared in its most beautiful 
white. To complete the scene, the full moon rose at length in 
that clouded majesty which Milton takes notice of, and opened 
to the eye a new picture of nature, which was more finely 
shaded, and disposed among softer lights, than that which the 
sun had before discovered to us. 

As I was surveying the moon walking in her brightness, 
and taking her progress among the constellations, a thought 
rose in me, which I believe very often perplexes and disturbs 
men of serious and contemplative natures. David himself fell 
into it in that reflection — u When I consider the heavens, the 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 143 

work of tby fingers, the moon and the stars which thou hast 
ordained, what is man that thou art mindful of him, or the son 
of man that thou regardest him ? " In the same manner, when 
I considered that infinite host of stars, or, to speak more phil- 
osophically, of suns, which were shining upon me, with those 
innumerable sets of planets or worlds, which were moving 
round their respective suns — when I still enlarged the idea, 
and supposed another heaven of suns and worlds rising still 
above these which we discovered, and these still enlightened 
by a superior firmament of luminaries, which are planted at so 
great a distance that they may appear to the inhabitants of 
the former as the stars do to us — in short, while I pursued 
this thought, I could not but reflect on that little insignificant 
figure which I myself bore amidst the immensity of God's 
works. I was afraid of being overlooked amidst the immen- 
sity of nature, and lost among that infinite variety of creatures 
which in all probability swarm through all these immeasurable 
regions of matter. We shall, however, utterly extinguish this 
melancholy thought, if we consider, in the first place, that God 
is omnipresent ; and in the second, that he is omniscient. 

If we consider him in his omnipresence, his being passes 
through, actuates, and supports the whole frame of nature. 
His creation and every part of it is full of him. There is no- 
thing he has made that is either so distant, so little, or so 
inconsiderable, which he does not essentially inhabit. His 
substance is within the substance of every being, whether ma- 
terial or immaterial, and as intimately present to it as that 
being is to itself. 

In the second place, he is omniscient as well as omnipresent. 
His omniscience, indeed, necessarily and naturally flows from 
his omnipresence. He cannot but be conscious of every mo- 
tion that arises in the whole material world which he thus 
essentially pervades ; and of every thought which is stirring in 
the intellectual world, to every part of which he is thus inti- 
mately united. Were the soul separate from the body, and with 
one glance of thought should start beyond the bounds of the 
creation — should it for millions of years continue its progress 
through infinite space with the same activity, it would still 



144 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

find itself within the embraces of its creator, and encompassed 
round with the immensity of the Godhead. 

In this consideration of God Almighty's omnipresence and 
omniscience every uncomfortable thought vanishes. He can- 
not but regard every thing that has being, especially such of 
his creatures as fear they are not regarded by him. He is 
privy to all their thoughts, and to that anxiety of heart in 
particular which is apt to trouble them on this occasion ; for 
as it is impossible he should overlook any of his creatures, so 
we may be confident that he regards with an eye of mercy 
those who endeavour to recommend themselves to his notice, 
and, in an unfeigned humility of heart, think themselves un- 
worthy that he should be mindful of them. Addison. 



39. LUXURY AND AVARICE. 

Most of the trades, professions, and ways of living among 
mankind, take their original either from the love of pleasure 
or the fear of want. The former, when it becomes too violent, 
degenerates into Luxury, and the latter into Avarice. 

When a government flourishes in conquests, and is secure 
from foreign attacks, it naturally falls into all the pleasures of 
luxury ; and as these pleasures are very expensive, they put 
those who are addicted to them upon raising fresh supplies of 
money, by all the methods of rapaciousness and corruption ; so 
that avarice and luxury very often become one complicated 
principle of nature in those whose hearts are wholly set upon 
ease, magnificence, and pleasure. The most elegant and cor- 
rect of all the Latin historians observes, that, in his time, when 
the most formidable states of the world were subdued by the 
Eomans, the republic sunk into these two vices of a quite dif- 
ferent nature, luxury and avarice ; and accordingly describes 
Catiline as one who coveted the wealth of other men, at the 
same time that he squandered away his own. This observation 
on the commonwealth, when it was in its height of power and 
riches, holds good of all governments that are settled in a state 
of ease and prosperity. At such times men naturally endeavour 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 145 

to outshine one another in pomp and splendour, and having no 
fears to alarm them from abroad, indulge themselves in the 
enjoyment of all the pleasures they can get into their posses- 
sion ; which naturally produces avarice, and an immoderate pur- 
suit after wealth and riches. 

As I was humouring myself in the speculation of these two 
great principles of action, I could not forbear throwing my 
thoughts into a kind of little allegory or fable, with which I 
shall here present my reader. 

There were two very powerful tyrants engaged in a perpet- 
ual war against each other : the name of the first was Luxury, 
and of the second Avarice. The aim of each of them was 
no less than universal monarchy over the hearts of mankind. 
Luxury had many generals under him, who did him great 
sendee, as Pleasure, Mirth, Pomp, and Fashion. Avarice was 
likewise very strong in his officers, being faithfully served by 
Hunger, Industry, Care, and Watchfulness; he had likewise 
a privy counsellor who was always at his elbow, and whisper- 
ing something or other in his ear : the name of this privy coun- 
sellor was Poverty. As Avarice had conducted himself by the 
counsels of Poverty, his antagonist was entirely guided by the 
dictates and advice of Plenty, who was his first counsellor and 
minister of state, and concerted all his measures for him, and 
never departed out of his sight. While these two great rivals 
were thus contending for empire, their conquests were very 
various. Luxury got possession of one heart, and Avarice of 
another. The father of a family would often range himself 
under the banners of Avarice, and the son under those of Lux- 
ury. The wife and husband would often declare themselves 
on the two different parties ; nay, the same person would very 
often side with one in his youth, and revolt to the other in his 
old age. Indeed the wise men of the world stood neuter ; but, 
alas ! their numbers were not considerable. At length, when 
these two potentates had wearied themselves with waging war 
upon one another, they agreed upon an interview, at which 
neither of their counsellors was to be present. It is said that 
Luxury began the parley, and after having represented the 
endless state of war in which they were engaged, told his en- 

o 



146 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

emy, with a frankness of heart which is natural to him, that 
he believed they two should be very good friends, were it not 
for the instigations of Poverty, that pernicious counsellor, who 
made an ill use of his ear, and filled him with groundless ap- 
prehensions and prejudices. To this Avarice replied, that he 
looked upon Plenty (the first minister of his antagonist) to be 
a much more destructive counsellor than Poverty ; for that he 
was perpetually suggesting pleasures, banishing all the neces- 
sary cautions against want, and consequently undermining those 
principles on which the government of Avarice was founded. 
At last, in order to an accommodation, they agreed upon this 
preliminary, that each of them should immediately dismiss his 
privy counsellor. When things were thus far adjusted towards 
a peace, all other differences were soon accommodated, inso- 
much, that for the future they resolved to live as good Mends 
and confederates, and to share between them whatever con- 
quests were made on either side. For this reason, we now find 
Luxury and Avarice taking possession of the same heart and 
the same person between them. To which I shall only add, 
that since the discarding of the counsellors above mentioned, 
Avarice supplies Luxury in the room of Plenty, as Luxury 
prompts Avarice in the place of Poverty. Spectator. 



40. ON SLAVERY. 

If we consider the domestic influences of Slavery, we must 
look for a dark picture indeed. Slavery virtually dissolves 
the domestic relations. It ruptures the most sacred ties on 
earth. It violates home. It lacerates the best affections. The 
domestic relations precede, and, in our present existence, are 
worth more than all our other social ties. They give the first 
throb to the heart, and unseal the deep fountains of its love. 
Home is the chief school of human virtue. Its responsibilities, 
joys, sorrows, smiles, tears, hopes, and solicitudes, form the 
chief interests of human life. Go where a man may, home is 
the centre to which his heart turns. The thought of home 
nerves his arm, and lightens his toil. For that his heart yearns 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 147 

when he is far off. There he garners up his best treasures. 
God has ordained for all men alike the highest earthly hap- 
piness, in providing for all the sanctuary of home. But the 
slave's home does not merit the name. To him it is no sanc- 
tuary. It is open to violation, insult, outrage. His children 
belong to another, are provided for by another, are disposed of 
by another. The most precious burden with which the heart 
can be charged, the happiness of his child, he must not bear. 
He lives not for his family, but for a stranger. He cannot 
improve their lot. His wife and daughter he cannot shield 
from insult. They may be torn from him at another's pleasure, 
sold as beasts of burden, sent he knows not whither, sent where 
he cannot reach them, or even interchange inquiries and mes- 
sages of love. To the slave marriage has no sanctity. It may 
be dissolved in a moment at another's will. His wife, son, and 
daughter, may be lashed before his eyes, and not a ringer must 
be lifted in their defence. He sees the scar of the lash on his 
wife and child. Thus the slave's home is desecrated. Thus 
the tenderest relations, intended by God equally for all, and 
intended to be the chief springs of happiness and virtue, are 
sported with wantonly and cruelly. What outrage so great as 
to enter a man's house, and tear from his side the beings whom 
God has bound to him by the holiest ties ? Every man can 
make the case his own. Every mother can bring it home to 
her own heart. 

And let it not be said, that the slave has not the sensibilities 
of other men. Nature is too strong even for slavery to conquer. 
Even the brute has the yearnings of parental love. But sup- 
pose that the conjugal and parental ties of the slave may be 
severed without a pang. What a curse must slavery be, if it 
can so blight the heart with more than brutal insensibility, if 
it can sink the human mother below the Polar she -bear which 
" howls and dies for her sundered cub." 

Let it not be said, that numbers of families are often sepa- 
rated in all conditions of life. Yes, but separated under the 
influence of love. The husband leaves wife and children that 
he may provide for their support, and carries them with him 
in his heart and hopes. The sailor, in his lonely night-watch, 



148 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

looks homeward, and well-known voices come to him amidst 
the war of the waves. The parent sends away his children, 
but sends them to prosper, and to press them again to his heart, 
with a joy enhanced by separation. Are such the separations 
which slavery makes ? and can he who has scattered other fam- 
ilies, ask God to bless his own ? Channing. 



41. ON GRIEVING FOR THE DEAD. 

We sympathize even with the dead, and overlooking what is 
of real importance in their situation, that awful futurity which 
awaits them, we are chiefly affected by those circumstances 
which strike our senses, but can have no influence upon their 
happiness. It is miserable, we think, to be deprived of the 
light of the sun ; to be shut out from life and conversation ; to 
be laid in the cold grave, a prey to corruption and the reptiles 
of the earth ; to be no more thought of in this world, but to be 
obliterated in a little time from the affections, and almost from 
the memory, of their dearest friends and relations. Surely, we 
imagine, we can never feel too much for those who have suf- 
fered so dreadful a calamity. The tribute of our fellow-feeling 
seems doubly due to them now, when they are in danger of 
being forgot by every body ; and, by the vain honours which 
we pay to their memory, we endeavour, for our own misery, 
artificially to keep alive our melancholy remembrance of their 
misfortune. That our sympathy can afford them no consolation, 
seems to be an addition to their calamity ; and to think that 
all we can do is unavailing, and that, what alleviates all other 
distresses, the regret, the love, and the lamentations of their 
friends, can yield no comfort to them, serves only to exasperate 
our sense of their misery. The happiness of the dead, however, 
most assuredly, is affected by none of these circumstances ; nor 
is it the thought of these things which can ever disturb the 
profound security of their repose. The idea of that dreary and 
endless melancholy, which the fancy naturally ascribes to their 
condition, arises altogether from our joining to the change which 
has been produced upon them, our own consciousness of that 
change, from our putting ourselves in their situation, and from 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 149 

our lodging, if I may be allowed to say so, our own living souls 
in their inanimated bodies, and thence conceiving what would 
be our emotions in this case. It is from this very illusion of 
the imagination, that the foresight of our own dissolution is so 
terrible to us, and that the idea of these circumstances, which 
undoubtedly can give us no pain when we are dead, makes us 
miserable while we are alive. And thence arises one of the 
most important principles in human nature, the dread of death, 
the great poison to the happiness, but the great restraint upon 
the injustice of mankind, which, while it afflicts and mortifies 
the individual, guards and protects society. 

Dr Adam Smith. 



42. ON REMORSE. 

As the greater and more irreparable the evil that is done, the 
resentment of the sufferer runs naturally the higher ; so does 
likewise the sympathetic indignation of the spectator, as well 
as the sense of guilt in the agent. Death is the greatest evil 
which one man can inflict upon another, and excites the highest 
degree of resentment in those who are immediately connected 
with the slain. Murder, therefore, is the most atrocious of all 
crimes which affect individuals only, in the sight both of man- 
kind and of the person who has committed it. To be deprived 
of that which we are possessed of, is a greater evil than to be 
disappointed of what we have only the expectation of. Breach 
of property, therefore, theft and robbery, which take from us 
what we are possessed of, are greater crimes than breach of 
contract, which only disappoints us of what we expected. The 
most sacred laws of justice, therefore, those whose violation 
seems to call loudest for vengeance and punishment, are the 
laws which guard the life and person of our neighbour ; the 
next are those which guard his property and possessions ; and 
last of all come those which guard what are called his personal 
rights, or what is due to him from the promises of others. 

The violator of the more sacred laws of justice can never 
reflect on the sentiments which mankind must entertain with 
regard to him, without feeling all the agonies of shame, and 



150 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

horror, and consternation. When his passion is gratified, and 
he begins coolly to reflect on his past conduct, he can enter 
into none of the motives which influenced it. They appear 
now as detestable to him as they did always to other people. 
By sympathizing with the hatred and abhorrence which other 
men must entertain for him, he becomes in some measure the 
object of his own hatred and abhorrence. The situation of the 
person who suffered by his injustice now calls upon his pity. 
He is grieved at the thought of it ; regrets the unhappy effects 
of his own conduct ; and feels at the same time that they have 
rendered him the proper object of the resentment and indigna- 
tion of mankind, and of what is the natural consequence of 
resentment, vengeance and punishment. The thought of this 
perpetually haunts him, and fills him with terror and amaze- 
ment. He dares no longer look society in the face, but imagines 
himself as it were rejected, and thrown out from the affections 
of all mankind. He cannot hope for the consolation of sym- 
pathy in this his greatest and most dreadful distress. The 
remembrance of his crimes has shut out all fellow-feeling with 
him from the hearts of his fellow-creatures. The sentiments 
which they entertain with regard to him are the very thing 
which he is most afraid of. Every thing seems hostile, and 
he would be glad to fly to some inhospitable desert, where he 
might never more behold the face of a human creature, nor 
read in the countenance of mankind the condemnation of his 
crimes. But solitude is still more dreadful than society. His 
own thoughts can present him with nothing but what is black, 
unfortunate, and disastrous, the melancholy forebodings of in- 
comprehensible misery and ruin. The horror of solitude drives 
him back to society, and he comes again into the presence of 
mankind, astonished to appear before them loaded with shame 
and distracted with fear, in order to supplicate some little 
protection from the countenance of those very judges, who 
he knows have already unanimously condemned him. Such 
is the nature of that sentiment, which is properly called re- 
morse ; of all the sentiments which can enter the human breast 
the most dreadful. It is made up of shame from the sense of 
the impropriety of past conduct ; of grief for the effects of it ; 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 151 

of pity for those who suffer by it ; and of the dread and terror 
of punishment from the consciousness of the justly-provoked 
resentment of all rational creatures. Dr Adam Smith. 



43. ON HUMAN GRANDEUR. 

An Alehouse-keeper near Islington, who had long lived at the 
sign of the French King, upon the commencement of the last 
war pulled down his old sign, and put up that of the Queen 
of Hungary. Under the influence of her red face and golden 
sceptre, he continued to sell ale, till she was no longer the fa- 
vourite of his customers ; he changed her, therefore, some time 
ago, for the King of Prussia, who may probably be changed, 
in turn, for the next great man that shall be set up for vulgar 
admiration. 

In this manner the great are dealt out, one after the other, 
to the gazing crowd. When we have sufficiently wondered at 
one of them, he is taken in, and another exhibited in his room, 
who seldom holds his station long ; for the mob are ever pleased 
with variety. 

I must own I have such an indifferent opinion of the vul- 
gar, that I am ever led to suspect that merit which raises their 
shout ; at least I am certain to find those great, and sometimes 
good men, who derive satisfaction from such acclamations, made 
worse by it ; and history has too frequently taught me, that 
the head which has grown this day giddy with the roar of the 
million, has the very next been fixed upon a pole. 

We have seen those virtues which have, while living, re- 
tired from the public eye, generally transmitted to posterity, 
as the truest objects of admiration and praise. Perhaps the 
character of the late Duke of Marlborough may one day be set 
up, even above that of his more-talked-of predecessor ; since 
an assemblage of all the mild and amiable virtues is far su- 
perior to those vulgarly called the great ones. I must be par- 
doned for this short tribute to the memory of a man, who, while 
living, would have as much detested to receive any thing that 
wore the appearance of flattery as I should dislike to oner it. 



152 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

There is scarcely a village in Europe, and not one university, 
that is not furnished with its little great men. The head of a 
petty corporation, who opposes the designs of a prince, who 
would tyrannically force his subjects to save their best clothes 
for Sundays; the puny pedant, who finds one undiscovered 
quality in the polypus, or describes an unheeded process in the 
skeleton of a mole, and whose mind, like his microscope, per- 
ceives nature only in detail ; the rhymer, who makes smooth 
verses, and paints to our imagination, when he should only 
speak to our hearts ; all equally fancy themselves walking for- 
ward to immortality, and desire the crowd behind them to look 
on. The crowd takes them at their word. Patriot, philoso- 
pher, and poet, are shouted in their train. " Where was there 
ever so much merit seen ? no times so important as our own ! 
ages, yet unborn, shall gaze with wonder and applause ! " To 
such music the important pigmy moves forward, bustling and 
swelling, and aptly compared to a puddle in a storm. 

I have lived to see generals who once had crowds hallooing 
after them wherever they went, who were bepraised by news- 
papers and magazines, those echoes of the voice of the vulgar, 
and yet they have long sunk into merited obscurity, with 
scarcely even an epitaph left to flatter. A few years ago the 
herring-fishery employed all Grub-street ; it was the topic in 
every coffee-house, and the burden of every ballad. We were 
to drag up oceans of gold from the bottom of the sea ; we were 
to supply all Europe with herrings upon our own terms. At 
present we hear no more of all this. We have fished up very 
little gold that I can learn ; nor do we furnish the world with 
herrings as was expected. Let us wait but a few years longer, 
and we shall find all our expectations a herring-fishery. 

Goldsmith. 



44. THE EFFECT OF ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS ON THE BELIEF 

OF MANKIND. 

A weak mind, unaccustomed to reflection, and which has pas- 
sively derived its most important opinions from habits or from 
authority, when in consequence of a more enlarged intercourse 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 153 

with the world, it finds that ideas, which it had been taught 
to regard as sacred, are treated by enlightened and worthy 
men with ridicule, is apt to lose its reverence for the funda- 
mental and eternal truths on which these accessory ideas are 
grafted, and easily falls a prey to that sceptical philosophy, 
which teaches that all the opinions and all the principles of 
action by which mankind are governed, may be traced to the 
influence of education and example. Amidst the infinite va- 
riety of forms, however, which our versatile nature assumes, it 
cannot fail to strike an attentive observer, that there are cer- 
tain indelible features common to them all. In one situation, 
we find good men attached to a republican form of government ; 
in another to a monarchy ; but in all situations, we find them 
devoted to the service of their country and mankind, and dis- 
posed to regard with reverence and love, the most absurd and 
capricious institutions which custom has led them to connect 
with the order of society. The different appearances, therefore, 
which the political opinions and the political conduct of men 
exhibit, while they demonstrate to what a wonderful degree 
human nature may be influenced by situation and by early in- 
struction, evince the existence of some common and original 
principles, which fit it for the political union, and illustrate the 
uniform operation of those laws of association, to which, in all 
stages of society, it is equally subject. 

Similar observations are applicable, and, indeed, in a still 
more striking degree, to the opinions of mankind on the import- 
ant questions of religion and morality. The variety of systems 
which they have formed to themselves concerning these sub- 
jects, has often excited the ridicule of the sceptic and the lib- 
ertine ; but if, on the one hand, this variety shows the folly 
of bigotry, and the reasonableness of mutual indulgence ; the 
curiosity which has led men in every situation, to such specu- 
lations, and the influence which their conclusions, however 
absurd, have had on their character and their happiness, prove 
no less clearly on the other, that there must be some principles 
from which they all derive their origin ; and invite the philoso- 
pher to ascertain what are these original and immutable laws 
of the human mind. " Examine," says Hume, " the religious 

g2 



154 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

principles, which have prevailed in the world. You will scarcely 
be persuaded, that they are anything but sick men's dreams : 
or, perhaps, will regard them more as the playsome whimseys 
of monkeys in human shape, than the serious, positive, dogma- 
tical asseverations of a being who dignifies himself with the 
name of rational. To oppose the torrent of scholastic relig- 
ion by such feeble maxims as these, that it is possible for the 
same thing to be and not to be ; that the whole is greater than 
a part ; that two and three make five ; is pretending to stop 
the ocean with a bulrush." But what is the inference to which 
we are led by these observations ? Is it, to use the words of 
this ingenious writer, " that the whole is a riddle, an enigma, 
an inexplicable mystery ; and that doubt, uncertainty, and sus- 
pense, appear the only result of our most accurate scrutiny con- 
cerning this subject." Or should not rather the melancholy 
histories which he has exhibited of the follies and caprices of 
superstition, direct our attention to those sacred and indelible 
characters on the human mind, which all these perversions of 
reason are unable to obliterate ; like that image of himself 
which Phidias wished to perpetuate, by stamping it so deeply 
on the buckler of his Minerva, that no one could obliterate or 
detach it without destroying the whole statue. In truth, the 
more strange the contradictions, and the more ludicrous the 
ceremonies to which the pride of human reason has thus been 
reconciled; the stronger is our evidence that religion has a 
foundation in the nature of man. When the greatest of modern 
philosophers declares, that u he would rather believe all the 
fables in the Legend, and the Talmud, and the Alcoran, than 
that this universal frame is without mind ; " (Lord Bacon in 
his Essays;) he has expressed the same feeling, which, in ail 
ages and nations, has led good men, unaccustomed to reasoning, 
to an implicit faith in the creed of their infancy ; — a feeling 
which affords an evidence of the existence of the Deity, incom- 
parably more striking, than if, unmixed with error and unde- 
based by superstition, this most important of all principles had 
commanded the universal assent of mankind. "Where are the 
other truths, in the whole circle of the sciences, which are so 
essential to human happiness, as to procure an easy access, not 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 1 55 

only for themselves, but for whatever opinions may happen to 
be blended with them ? Where are the truths so venerable 
and commanding, as to impart their own sublimity to every 
trifling memorial which recalls them to our remembrance ; to 
bestow solemnity and elevation on every mode of expression 
by which they are conveyed ; and which, in whatever scene 
they have habitually occupied the thoughts, consecrate every 
object which it presents to our senses, and the very ground we 
have been accustomed to tread? To attempt to weaken the 
authority of such impressions, by a detail of the endless variety 
of forms which they derive from casual associations, is surely 
an employment unsuitable to the dignity of philosophy. To 
the vulgar it may be amusing in this as in other instances, to 
indulge their wonder at what is new or uncommon; but to 
the philosopher it belongs to perceive, under all these various 
disguises, the workings of the same common nature ; and in 
the superstitions of Egypt, no less than in the lofty visions of 
Plato, to recognise the existence of those moral ties which 
unite the heart of man to the Author of his being. 

Dugald Stewart. 



45. THE ENCOUNTER OF BRAVE AND THE PANTHER. 

In this manner the young ladies proceeded along the margin of 
the precipice, catching occasional glimpses of the placid Otsego, 
when Elizabeth suddenly started and exclaimed, "Listen ! there 
are the cries of a child on this mountain ! Is there a clearing 
near us ? or can some little one have strayed from its parents ?" 
" Such things frequently happen," returned Louisa. " Let us 
follow the sounds ; it may be a wanderer starving on the hill." 
Urged by this consideration, the females pursued with quick 
and impatient steps the low mournful sounds that proceeded 
from trie forest. More than once the ardent Elizabeth was on 
the point of announcing that she saw the sufferer, when Louisa 
caught her by the arm, and pointing behind them, cried, " Look 
at the dog ! " Brave had been their companion from the time 
the voice of his young mistress lured him from his kennel to 



156 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

the present moment. His advanced age had long deprived him 
of his activity, and when his companions stopped to view the 
scenery or to add to their bouquets, the mastiff would lay his 
huge frame on the ground, and await their movements with his 
eyes closed, and a listlessness in his air, that ill accorded with 
the character of a protector. But when, aroused by this cry 
from Louisa, Miss Temple turned, she saw the dog with his 
eyes keenly set on some distant object, his head bent near the 
ground, and his hair actually rising on his body either through 
fright or anger. It was most probably the latter, for he was 
growling in a low key, and occasionally showing his teeth in a 
manner that would have terrified his mistress, had she not so 
well known his good qualities. " Brave ! " she said ; " be quiet, 
Brave ; what do you see, fellow?" At the sound of her voice, 
the rage of the mastiff, instead of being at all diminished, was 
very sensibly increased. He stalked in front of the ladies, and 
seated himself at the feet of his mistress, growling louder than 
before, and occasionally giving vent to his ire by a short surly 
barking. " What does he see ! " said Elizabeth, " there must 
be some animal in sight." Hearing no answer from her com- 
panion, Miss Temple turned her head, and beheld Louisa, 
standing with her face whitened to the colour of death, and 
her finger pointing upward with a sort of flickering, convulsed 
motion. The quick eye of Elizabeth glanced in the direction 
indicated by her friend, where she saw the fierce front and 
glaring eyes of a female panther fixed on them in horrid ma- 
lignity, and threatening instant destruction. " Let us fly," 
exclaimed Elizabeth, grasping the arm of Louisa, whose form 
yielded like melting snow, and sunk lifeless to the earth. There 
was not a single feeling in the temperament of Elizabeth Tem- 
ple that could prompt her to desert a companion in such an 
extremity, and she fell on her knees by the side of the inanimate 
Louisa, tearing from the person of her friend, with an instinctive 
readiness, such parts of her dress as might obstruct her respi- 
ration, and encouraging their only safeguard, the dog, at the 
same time by the sounds of her voice. " Courage, Brave," she 
cried, her own tones beginning to tremble ; " courage, courage, 
good Brave." 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 157 

A quarter-grown cub, that had hitherto been unseen, now 
appeared, dropping from the branches of a sapling, that grew 
under the shade of the beech which held its dam. This igno- 
rant but vicious creature, approached near to the dog, imitating 
the actions and sounds of its parent, but exhibiting a strange 
mixture of the playfulness of a kitten with the ferocity of its 
race. Standing on its hind legs, it would rend the bark of a 
tree with its forepaws, and play all the antics of a cat for a 
moment ; and then, by lashing itself with its tail, growling and 
scratching the earth, it would attempt the manifestations of 
anger that rendered its parent so terrible. 

All this time Brave stood firm and undaunted, his short tail 
erect, his body drawn backward on its haunches, and his eyes 
following the movements of both dam and cub. At every gam- 
bol played by the latter, it approached nigher to the dog, the 
growling of the three becoming more horrid at each moment, 
until the younger beast, overleaping its intended bound, fell 
directly before the mastiff. There was a moment of fearful 
cries and struggles, but they ended almost as soon as com- 
menced, by the cub appearing in the air, hurled from the jaws 
of Brave, with a violence that sent it against a tree so forcibly 
as to render it completely senseless. Elizabeth witnessed the 
short struggle, and her blood was warming with the triumph 
of the dog, when she saw the form of the old panther in the 
air springing twenty feet from the branch of the beech to the 
back of the mastiff. No words of ours can describe the fury of 
the conflict that followed. It was a confused struggle on the 
dried leaves, accompanied by loud and terrible cries, barks, and 
growls. Miss Temple continued on her knees, bending over the 
form of Louisa, her eyes fixed on the animals, with an interest 
so horrid, and yet so intense, that she almost forgot her own 
stake in the result. So rapid and vigorous were the bounds of 
the inhabitant of the forest, that its active frame seemed con- 
stantly in the air, while the dog nobly faced the foe at each 
successive leap. When the panther lighted on the shoulders 
of the mastiff, which was its constant aim, old Brave, though 
torn with her talons, and stained with his own blood, that al- 
ready flowed from a dozen wounds, would shake off his furious 



158 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

foe like a feather, and, rearing on his hind legs, rnsh to the 
fray again with his jaws distended and a dauntless eye. But 
age and a pampered life greatly disqualified the noble mastiff 
for such a struggle. In every thing but courage he was only 
the vestige of what he had once been. A higher bound than 
ever raised the wary and furious beast far beyond the reach of 
the dog, who was making a desperate but fruitless dash at her, 
from which she alighted in a favourable position on the back 
of her aged foe. For a single moment only could the panther 
remain there, the great strength of the dog returning with a 
convulsive effort. But Elizabeth saw, as Brave fastened his 
teeth in the side of his enemy, that the collar of brass around 
his neck, which had been glittering throughout the fray, was 
of the colour of blood, and directly that his frame was sinking 
to the earth, where it soon lay prostrate and helpless. Several 
mighty efforts of the wild cat to extricate herself from the jaws 
of the dog followed, but they were fruitless, until the mastiff 
turned on his back, his lips collapsed, and his teeth loosened ; 
when the short convulsions and stillness that succeeded, an- 
nounced the death of poor Brave. Elizabeth now lay wholly 
at the mercy of the beast. There is said to be something in 
the front of the image of the Maker that daunts the hearts of 
the inferior beings of his creation ; and it would seem that some 
such power, in the present instance, suspended the threatened 
blow. The eyes of the monster and the kneeling maiden met 
for an instant, when the former stooped to examine her fallen 
foe, next to scent her luckless cub. From the latter examina- 
tion it turned, however, with its eyes apparently emitting flashes 
of fire, its tail lashing its sides furiously, and its claws projecting 
four inches from its broad feet. Miss Temple did not or could 
not move. Her hands were clasped in the attitude of prayer, 
but her eyes were still drawn to her terrible enemy ; her cheeks 
were blanched to the whiteness of marble, and her lips were 
slightly separated with horror. The moment seemed now to 
have arrived for the fatal termination, and the beautiful figure 
of Elizabeth was bowing meekly to the stroke, when a rustling 
of leaves from behind seemed rather to mock the organs than 
to meet the ear. " Hist, hist !" said a low voice, " stoop lower, 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 159 

your bonnet hides the creature's head." It was rather the yield- 
ing of nature than a compliance with this unexpected order that 
caused the head of our heroine to sink on her bosom, when she 
heard the report of the rifle, the whizzing of the bullet, and the 
enraged cries of the beast, who was rolling over on the earth, 
biting its own flesh, and tearing the twigs and branches within 
its reach. At the next instant her opportune deliverer emerged 
to view in the person of Leather-stocking. Cooper. 



46. ST PAUL AT ATHENS. 

At Athens, at once the centre and capital of the Greek philos- 
ophy and Heathen superstition, takes place the first public and 
direct conflict between Christianity and Paganism. Up to this 
time there is no account of any one of the apostles taking his 
station in the public street or market-place, and addressing the 
general multitude. Their place of teaching had invariably been 
the synagogue of their nation, or, as at Philippi, the neighbour- 
hood of their customary place of worship. Here, however, Paul 
does not confine himself to the synagogue, or to the society of 
his countrymen and their proselytes. He takes his stand in 
the public market-place (probably not the Ceramicus, but the 
Eretriac Forum) which, in the reign of Augustus, had begun 
to be more frequented, and at the top of which was the famous 
portico, from which the Stoics assumed their name. In Athens, 
the appearance of a new public teacher, instead of offending the 
popular feelings, was too familiar to excite astonishment, and 
was rather welcomed as promising some fresh intellectual ex- 
citement. In Athens, hospitable to all religions and all opinions, 
the foreign and Asiatic appearance, and possibly the less pol- 
ished tone and dialect of Paul, would only awaken the stronger 
curiosity. Though they affect at first (probably the philosophic 
part of his hearers) to treat him as an idle "babbler," and others 
i the vulgar, alarmed for the honour of their deities) supposed 
that he was about to introduce some new religious worship which 
might endanger the supremacy of their own tutelar divinities, 
he is conveyed, not without respect, to a still more public and 



160 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

commodious place, from whence he may explain his doctrines to 
a numerous assembly without disturbance. On the Areopagus 
the Christian leader takes his stand, surrounded on every side 
with whatever was noble, beautiful, and intellectual in the olden 
world, — temples, of which the materials were surpassed only by 
the architectural grace and majesty; statues, in which the ideal 
anthropomorphism of the Greeks had almost elevated the pop- 
ular notions of the Deity, by embodying it in human forms of 
such exquisite perfection; public edifices, where the civil inter- 
ests of man hadbeen discussed with the acuteness and versatility 
of the highest Grecian intellect, in all the purity of the in- 
imitable Attic dialect, when oratory had obtained its highest 
triumphs, by " wielding at will the fierce democracy ;" the 
walks of the philosophers, who unquestionably, by elevating 
the human mind to an appetite for new and nobler knowledge, 
had prepared the way for a loftier and purer religion. The 
opening of the apostle's speech is according to those most per- 
fect rules of art which are but the expressions of the general 
sentiments of nature. It is calm, temperate, conciliatory. It 
is no fierce denunciation of idolatry, no contemptuous disdain 
of the prevalent philosophic opinions ; it has nothing of the 
sternness of the ancient Jewish prophet, nor the taunting de- 
fiance of the later Christian polemic. " Already the religious 
people of Athens had, unknowingly indeed, worshipped the 
universal Deity, for they had an altar to the unknown God. 
The nature, the attributes of this sublimer being, hitherto 
adored in ignorant and unintelligent homage, he came to un- 
fold. This God rose far above the popular notion ; he could 
not be confined in altar or temple, or represented by any visible 
image. He was the universal father of mankind, even of the 
earth-born Athenians, who boasted that they were of an older 
race than the other families of man, and coeval with the world 
itself." The next sentence, which asserted the providence of 
God, as the active, creative energy, as the conservative, the 
ruling, the ordaining principle, annihilated at once the atomic 
theory and the government of blind chance, to which Epicurus 
ascribed the origin and preservation of the universe. The great 
Christian doctrine of the resurrection closed the speech of Paul; 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 161 

a doctrine received with mockery perhaps by his Epicurean 
hearers, with suspension of judgment probably by the Stoic, 
with whose theory of the final destruction of the world by fire, 
and his tenet of future retribution, it might appear in some 
degree to harmonize. 

At Athens all this free discussion on topics relating to the 
religious and moral nature of man, and involving the authority 
of the existing religion, passed away without disturbance. The 
jealous reverence for the established faith, which, conspiring 
with its perpetual ally political faction, had in former times 
caused the death of Socrates, the exile of Stilpa, and the pro- 
scription of Diagoras the Melian, had long died away. With 
the loss of independence political animosities had subsided, and 
the toleration of philosophical and religious indifference allowed 
the utmost latitude to speculative inquiry, however ultimately 
dangerous to the whole fabric of the national religion. Yet 
Polytheism still reigned in Athens in its utmost splendour ; the 
temples were maintained with the highest pomp ; the Eleusi- 
nian mysteries, in which religion and philosophy had in some 
degree coalesced, attracted the noblest and the wisest of the 
Romans, who boasted of their initiation in these sublime secrets. 
Athens was thus at once the head-quarters of Paganism, and 
at the same time the place where Paganism most clearly be- 
trayed its approaching dissolution. Milman. 



47. DKAMATIC POETS. 

Shakspeare was the man, who, of all modern, and perhaps 
ancient poets, had the largest and most comprehensive soul. 
All the images of nature were still present to him ; and he 
drew them not laboriously, but luckily. When he describes 
any thing, you more than see it, you feel it too. Those who 
accuse him of having wanted learning give him the greater 
commendation. He was naturally learned ; he needed not the 
spectacles of books to read nature ; he looked inward and found 
her there. I cannot say that he is everywhere alike ; were he 
so, I should do him injury to compare him with the greatest 



162 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

of mankind. He is many times flat and insipid; his comic 
wit degenerating into clenches, his serious swelling into bom- 
bast. But he is always great when some great occasion is 
presented to him ; no man can say he ever had a fit subject 
lor his wit, and did not raise himself as high above the rest of 
poets. 

" Quantum lenta solent inter viburna cnpressi." 

The consideration of this made Mr Hales of Eton say, that 
there was no subject of which any poet ever wrote, but he 
would produce it much better done in Shakspeare. 

As for Jonson, if we look upon him while he was himself, 
(for his last plays were but his dotages) I think him the most 
learned and judicious writer which any theatre ever had. He 
was a most severe judge of himself as well as of others. One 
cannot say he wanted wit, but rather that he was frugal of it. 
In his works you find little to retrench or alter. Wit, and 
language and humour also in some measure, were had before 
him ; but something of art was wanting to the Drama till he 
came. He managed his strength to greater advantage than 
any who preceded him. You seldom find him endeavouring 
to move the passions ; his genius was too sullen and saturnine 
to do it gracefully, especially when he knew he came after 
those who had performed both to such a height. Humour was 
his proper sphere, and in that he delighted more to represent 
mechanic people. He was deeply conversant with the ancients, 
both Greek and Latin, and he borrowed boldly from them ; 
there is scarcely a poet or historian among the Roman authors 
of those times whom he has not translated in " Sejanus" and 
" Catiline." But he has done his robberies so openly, that 
one may see he fears not to be taxed by any law. He invades 
authors like a monarch, and what would be theft in other poets 
is only victory in him. If there was any fault in his language, 
it was that he weaved it too closely and laboriously, in his com- 
edies especially ; perhaps too he did a little too much Eomanize 
our tongue, leaving the words which he translated almost as 
much Latin as he found them ; wherein, though he learnedly 
followed their language, he did not enough to comply with the 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 163 

idiom of ours. If I would compare him with Shakspeare, I must 
acknowledge him the more correct poet, but Shakspeare the 
greater wit. Shakspeare was the Homer, or father of our dra- 
matic poets ; Jon son was the Virgil, the pattern of elaborate 
writing. I admire him, but I love Shakspeare. Dryden. 



48. — SECURITY. 

This inestimable good is the mark of civilisation ; it is the 
work of the laws. Without law there is no. security, no abun- 
dance, no certain subsistence ; and the only equality in such 
a condition is an equality of misery. To estimate the benefit 
of the laws, it is only necessary to consider the condition of 
savages. They struggle against famine, which sometimes in 
a few days cuts off whole nations. Eivalry for the means of 
subsistence produces among them cruel wars ; and, like fero- 
cious beasts, men pursue men, that they may feed on one 
another. The gentlest sentiments of nature are destroyed by 
the fear of famine ; old persons are put to death, because they 
can no longer follow their prey. 

Examine what passes when civilized men return almost to 
the savage state. I refer to a time of war, when the laws are 
in part suspended. Every instant is fruitful in calamity ; at 
every step which it imprints on the globe, the mass of riches, 
the foundation of subsistence, decreases or disappears ; the cot- 
tage and the palace alike suffer from its ravages ; and frequently 
the anger or caprice of a moment consigns to destruction the 
slow productions of an age of labour. Law alone has accom- 
plished what all the natural feelings were unable to do; it 
alone has created a fixed possession, which deserves the name of 
property ; it alone could accustom us to the yoke of foresight. 
Economy has as many enemies as there are men who would 
enjoy without taking the trouble to produce. Labour is too 
painful for indolence, too slow for impatience, cunning and 
injustice conspire to carry off its fruits ; insolence and audacity 
plot to seize them by open force ; society, always threatened, 
lives in. the midst of snares, requiring in the legislator vigil- 



164 MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

ance and power always in action. Moreover, since pain and 
pleasure are felt by anticipation, the expectation of security in 
man is not limited to the present time, or to the period of hip 
own life ; it must be prolonged to him through the whole vista 
that his imagination can measure. If he have proof that such 
an expectation can be realized, the fact entitles him to form a 
general plan of conduct, and to regard the moments that com- 
pose the present life not as isolated points, but as parts of a 
continuous whole ; it forms a chain passing beyond himself to 
the generations which are to follow, the sensibility of the indi- 
vidual being prolonged through all the links of the chain. 

In creating property, the laws have created wealth, at the 
same time that they are benefactors to those who remain in 
their original poverty — the primitive condition of the human 
race. In civilized society the poorest participate more or less 
in its resources ; hope mingles with their labours ; they enjoy 
the pleasures of acquisition ; their industry places them among 
the candidates for fortune. Those who look down from above 
at the inferior ranks see all objects less than they really are ; 
but at the base of the pyramid the summit disappears in turn. 
The poor never dream of making these comparisons, or torment 
themselves with impossibilities ; and, if all things be considered, 
it will be found that the protection of the laws contributes as 
much to the happiness of the cottage as to the security of the 
palace. Jeremy Bentham. 



49. ON THE SUBLIME IN WRITING. 

It is, generally speaking, among the most ancient authors, that 
we are to look for the most striking instances of the sublime. 
The early ages of the world, and the rude unimproved state of 
society, are peculiarly favourable to the strong emotions of sub- 
limity. The genius of men is then much turned to admiration 
and astonishment. Meeting with many objects, to them new 
and strange, their imagination is kept glowing, and their pas- 
sions are often raised to the utmost. They think, and express 
themselves boldly, and without restraint. In the progress of 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 165 

society, the genius and manners of men undergo a change more 
favourable to accuracy than to strength or sublimity. 

Of all writings, ancient or modern, the Sacred Scriptures 
afford us the highest instances of the sublime. The descriptions 
of the Deity in them are wonderfully noble, both from the gran- 
deur of the object, and the manner of representing it. What 
an assemblage, for instance, of awful and sublime ideas is pre- 
sented to us, in that passage of the XVIIIth Psalm, where an 
appearance of the Almighty is described ! "In my distress I 
called upon the Lord ; he heard my voice out of his temple, 
and my cry came before him. Then the earth shook and 
trembled ; the foundations also of the hills were moved ; be- 
cause he was wroth. He bowed the heavens and came down, 
and darkness was under his feet ; and he did ride upon a cherub, 
and did fly ; yea, he did fly upon the wings of the wind. He 
made darkness his secret place ; his pavilion round about him 
were dark waters, and thick clouds of the sky." We see, with 
what propriety and success the circumstances of darkness and 
terror are applied for heightening the sublime. So, also, the 
prophet Habakkuk, in a similar passage : "He stood, and mea- 
sured the earth; he beheld, and drove asunder the nations. 
The everlasting mountains were scattered ; the perpetual hills 
did bow ; his ways are everlasting. The mountains saw thee ; 
and they trembled. The overflowing of the water passed by. 
The deep uttered his voice, and lifted up his hands on high." 

The noted instance, given by Longinus, from Moses, " God 
said, Let there be light; and there was light;" is not liable 
to the censure, which was passed on some of his instances, of 
being foreign to the subject. It belongs to the true sublime ; 
and the sublimity of it arises from the strong conception it 
gives of an exertion of power, producing its effect with the 
utmost speed and facility. A thought of the same kind is 
magnificently amplified in the following passage of Isaiah 
(chap. xliv. 24, 27, 28,) " Thus saith the Lord, thy Redeemer, 
and he that formed thee from the womb : I am the Lord that 
maketh all things, that stretcheth forth the heavens alone, 
that spreadeth abroad the earth by myself — that saith to the 
deep, Be dry, and I will dry up thy rivers ; that saith of Cyrus, 



16G MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 

He is my Shepherd, and shall perform all my pleasure ; even 
saying to Jerusalem, Thou shalt be built ; and to the temple, 
Thy foundation shall be laid." There is a passage in the 
Psalms, which deserves to be mentioned under this head ; 
"God," says the Psalmist, " stilleth the noise of the seas, the 
noise of their waves, and the tumults of the people." The 
joining together two such grand objects, as the raging of the 
waters, and the tumults of the people, between which there is 
such resemblance as to form a very natural association in the 
fancy, and the representing them both as subject, at one mo- 
ment, to the command of God, produces a noble effect. 

Homer is a poet, who, in all ages, and by all critics, has 
been greatly admired for sublimity ; and he owes much of his 
grandeur to that native and unaffected simplicity which char- 
acterizes his manner. His description of hosts engaging ; the 
animation, the fire, the rapidity, which he throws into his 
battles, present to every reader of the Iliad frequent instances 
of sublime writing. His introduction of the gods tends often to 
heighten, in a high degree, the majesty of his warlike scenes. 
Hence Longinus bestows such high and just commendations 
on that passage, in the XVth Book of the Iliad, where Nep- 
tune, when preparing to issue forth into the engagement, is 
described as shaking the mountains with his steps, and driving 
his chariot along the ocean. Minerva arming herself for fight 
in the Vth Book ; and Apollo, in the XVth, leading on the 
Trojans, and flashing terror with his iEgis on the face of the 
Greeks, are similar instances of great sublimity added to the 
description of battles, by the appearance of those celestial 
beings. In the XXth Book, where all the gods take part in 
the engagement, according as they severally favour either the 
Grecians or the Trojans, the poet's genius is signally displayed, 
and the description rises into the most awful magnificence. All 
nature is represented as in commotion. Jupiter thunders in 
the heavens ; Neptune strikes the earth with his trident ; the 
ships, the city, and the mountains shake ; the earth trembles 
to its centre ; Pluto starts from his throne, in dread, lest the 
secrets of the infernal regions should be laid open to the view 
of mortals. 



MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. 167 

The works of Ossian abound with examples of the sublime. 
The subjects of which that author treats, and the manner in 
which he writes, are particularly favourable to it. He pos- 
sesses all the plain and venerable manner of the ancient times. 
He deals in no superfluous or gaudy ornaments, but throws 
forth his images with a rapid conciseness, which enables them 
to strike the mind with the greatest force. Among poets of 
more polished times, we are to look for the graces of correct 
writing, for just proportion of parts, and skilfully connected 
narration. In the midst of smiling scenery and pleasurable 
themes, the gay and beautiful will appear, undoubtedly, to 
more advantage. But amidst the rude scenes of nature and of 
society, such as Ossian describes, amidst rocks, and torrent?, 
and whirlwinds, and battles, dwells the sublime, and naturally 
associates itself with the grave and solemn spirit, which dis- 
tinguishes the author of Fingal. " As autumn's dark storms 
pour from two echoing hills, so towards each other approached 
the heroes. As two dark streams from high rocks meet, and 
mix, and roar on the plain ; loud, rough, and dark, in battle, 
met Lochlin and Innis-fail ; chief mixed his strokes with chief, 
and man with man. Steel clanging sounded on steel. Hel- 
mets are cleft on high ; blood bursts, and smokes around. As 
the troubled noise of the ocean when roll the waves on high ; 
as the last peal of the thunder of heaven ; such is the noise of 
battle. As roll a thousand waves to the rock, so Swaran's 
host came on ; as meets a rock a thousand waves, so Innis-fail 
met Swaran. Death raises all his voices around, and mixes 
with the sound of shields. The field echoes from wing to wing, 
as a hundred hammers that fail by turns on the red sun of the 
furnace. As a hundred winds on Morven ; as the streams of 
a hundred hills ; as clouds fly successive over the heavens ; or, 
as the dark ocean assaults the shore of the desert ; so roaring, 
so vast, so terrible, the armies mixed on Lena's echoing heath. 
The groan of the people spread over the hills. It was like the 
thunder of night, when the clouds burst on Cona, and a thou- 
sand ghosts shriek at once on the hollow wind." Never were 
images of more awful sublimity employed to heighten the ter- 
ror of battle. Blair. 



HISTOKICAL AND BIOGEAPHICAL EXTRACTS. 



1. OUR NATURAL FONDNESS FOR HISTORY, AND ITS TRUE USE* 

The love of history seems inseparable from human nature, be- 
cause it seems inseparable from self-love. The same principle 
in this instance carries us forward and backward, to future and 
to past ages. We imagine that the things which affect us must 
affect posterity; this sentiment runs through mankind, from 
Caesar down to the parish-clerk in Pope's Miscellany. We are 
fond of preserving, as far as it is in our frail power, the memory 
of our own adventures, of those of our own time, and of those 
that preceded it. Eude heaps of stones have been raised, and 
ruder hymns have been composed, for this purpose, by nations 
who had not yet the use of arts and letters. To go no farther 
back, the triumphs of Odin were celebrated in Kunic songs, 
and the feats of our British ancestors were recorded in those 
of their bards. The savages of America have the same custom 
at this day : and long historical ballads of their hunting and 
wars are sung at all their funerals. There is no need of saying 
how this passion grows among all civilized nations, in propor- 
tion to the means of gratifying it : but let us observe, that 
the same principle of nature directs us as strongly, and more 
generally, as well as more early, to indulge our own curiosity, 
instead of preparing to gratify that of others. The child hear- 
kens with delight to the tales of his nurse ; he learns to read, 
and he devours with eagerness fabulous legends and novels. 
In riper years he applies to history, or to that which he takes 
for history, to authorized romance : and even in age, the desire 
of knowing what has happened to other men, yields to the 
desire alone of relating what has happened to ourselves. Thus 
history, true or false, speaks to our passions always. What 
pity is it, that even the best should speak to our understand- 
ings so seldom ! That it does so ; we have none to blame but 
ourselves. Nature has done her part. She has opened this 
study to every man who can read and think ; and what she 



HISTORICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL EXTRACTS. 169 

has made the most agreeable, reason can make the most useful 
application of our minds. 

Nature gave us curiosity to excite the industry of our minds ; 
but she never intended it to be made the principal, much less 
the sole object of their application. The true and proper ob- 
ject of this application, is a constant improvement in private 
and in public virtue. An application to any study, that tends 
neither directly nor indirectly to make us better men, and better 
citizens, is at best but a specious and ingenious sort of idleness, 
to use an expression of Tillotson : and the knowledge we ac- 
quire is a creditable kind of ignorance, nothing more. This 
creditable kind of ignorance is, in my opinion, the whole benefit 
which the generality of men, even of the most learned, reap 
from the study of history : and yet the study of history seems 
to me, of all other, the most proper to train us up to private 
and public virtue. Bolingbroke. 



2. CHARACTER OF FRANCIS THE FIRST AND OF CHARLES 

THE FIFTH. 

During twenty-eight years an avowed rivalship subsisted be- 
tween Francis the First and the Emperor Charles the Fifth, 
which involved not only their own dominions, but the greatest 
part of Europe in wars, which were prosecuted with more 
violent animosity and drawn out to a greater length than had 
been known in any former period. Many circumstances con- 
tributed to this. Their animosity was founded on opposition, 
of interest, heightened by personal emulation, and exasperated 
not only by mutual injuries, but by reciprocal insults. At the 
same time, whatever advantage one seemed to possess towards 
gaining the ascendant, was wonderfully balanced by some fa- 
vourable circumstance peculiar to the other. The emperor's 
dominions were of greater extent ; the French king's lay more 
compact. Francis governed his kingdom with absolute power ; 
that of Charles was limited, but he supplied the want of au- 
thority by address. The troops of the former were more im- 
petuous and enterprising ; those of the latter better disciplined, 

h 



170 HISTORICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL EXTRACTS. 

and more patient of fatigue. The talents and abilities of the 
two monarchs were as different as the advantages which they 
possessed, and contributed no less to prolong the contest be- 
tween them. Francis took his resolutions suddenly, prosecuted 
them at first with warmth, and pushed them into execution 
with a most adventurous courage ; but being destitute of the 
perseverance necessary to surmount difficulties, he often aban- 
doned his designs, or relaxed the vigour of pursuit from impa- 
tience, and sometimes from levity. Charles deliberated long, 
and determined with coolness, but having once fixed his plan, 
he adhered to it with inflexible obstinacy, and neither danger 
nor discouragement could turn him aside from the execution of 
it. The success of their enterprises was suitable to the diver- 
sity of their characters, and was uniformly influenced by it. 
Francis, by his impetuous activity, often disconcerted the em- 
peror's best laid schemes ; Charles, by a more calm but steady 
prosecution of his designs, checked the rapidity of his rival's 
career, and baffled or repulsed his most vigorous efforts. The 
former, at the opening of a war or of a campaign, broke in 
upon the enemy with the violence of a torrent, and carried all 
before him; the latter, waiting till he saw the force of his 
rival beginning to abate, recovered in the end not only all that 
he had lost, but made new acquisitions. Few of the French 
monarch's attempts towards conquest, whatever promising as- 
pect they might wear at first, were conducted to a happy issue ; 
many of the emperor's enterprises, even after they appeared 
desperate and impracticable, terminated in the most prosperous 
manner. Robertson. 



6. CHARACTER OF WILLIAM THE THIRD. 

William Henry, Prince of Orange Nassau, on his accession to 
the English throne, was in his thirty-seventh year. But both 
in body and mind he was older than other men of the same age. 
Indeed it might be said that he had never been young. His 
external appearance is almost as well known to us as to his own 
captains and councillors. Sculptors, painters, and medallists 



HISTORICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL EXTRACTS. 171 

exerted their utmost skill in the work of transmitting his feat- 
ures to posterity ; and his features were such as no artist could 
fail to seize, and such as once seen could never be forgotten. 
His name at once calls up before us a slender and feeble frame, 
a lofty and ample forehead, a nose curved like the beak of an 
eagle, an eye rivalling that of an eagle in brightness and keen- 
ness, a thoughtful and somewhat sullen brow, a firm and some- 
what peevish mouth, a cheek pale, thin, and deeply furrowed 
by sickness and by care. That pensive, severe, and solemn 
aspect could scarcely have belonged to a happy or a good-hu- 
moured man. But it indicates in a manner not to be mistaken, 
capacity equal to the most arduous enterprises, and fortitude 
not to be shaken by reverses or dangers. 

Nature had largely endowed William with the qualities of a 
great ruler, and education had developed those qualities in no 
common degree. With strong natural sense and rare force of 
will, he found himself, when first his mind began to open, 
a fatherless and motherless child, the chief of a great but 
depressed and disheartened party, and the heir to vast and 
indefinite pretensions, which, excited the dread and aversion of 
the oligarchy, then supreme in the United Provinces. The 
commom people, fondly attached during a century to his house, 
indicated whenever they saw him, in a manner not to be mis- 
taken, that they regarded him as their rightful head. The 
able and experienced ministers of the republic, mortal enemies 
of his name, came every day to pay their feigned civilities to 
him, and to observe the progress of his mind. The first move- 
ments of his ambition were carefully watched ; every unguarded 
word uttered by him was noted down, nor bad he near him any 
adviser on whose judgment reliance could be placed. He 
was scarcely fifteen years old when all the domestics who were 
attached to his interest, or who enjoyed any share of his con- 
fidence, were removed from under his roof by the jealous gov- 
ernment. He remonstrated with energy beyond his years, but 
in vain. Vigilant observers saw the tears more than once rise 
in the eyes of the young state prisoner. His health, naturally 
delicate, sank for a time under the emotions which his desolate 
situation had produced. Such situations bewilder and unnerve 



172 HISTORICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL EXTRACTS. 

the weak, but call forth all the strength of the strong. Sur- 
rounded by snares in which an ordinary youth would have 
perished, William learned to tread at once warily and firmly. 
Long before he reached manhood he knew how to keep secrets, 
how to baffle curiosity by dry and guarded answers, how to' 
conceal all passions under the same show of grave tranquillity. 
Meanwhile he made little proficiency in fashionable or literary 
accomplishments. The manners of the Dutch nobility of that 
age Wanted the grace, which was found in the highest perfec- 
tion among the gentlemen of France, and which in an inferior 
degree embellished the court of England, and his manners were 
altogether Dutch. Even his countrymen thought him blunt. 
To foreigners he often seemed churlish. In his intercourse 
with the world in general, he appeared ignorant or negligent 
of those arts which double the value of a favour and take away 
the sting of a refusal. He was little interested in letters or 
science. The discoveries of Newton and Leibnitz, the poems 
of Dry den and Boileau, were unknown to him. Dramatic per- 
formances tired him, and he was glad to turn away from the 
stage, and to talk about public affairs, while Orestes was rav- 
ing, or while Tartuffe was pressing Elvira's hand. He had 
indeed some talent for sarcasm, and not seldom employed, quite 
unconsciously, a natural rhetoric, quaint indeed but vigorous 
and original. He did not however in the least affect the char- 
acter of a wit or of an orator. His attention had been confined 
to those studies which form strenuous and sagacious men of 
business. From a child he listened with interest when high 
questions of alliance, finance, and war, were discussed. Of 
geometry he learned as much as was necessary for the con- 
struction of a ravelin or a hornwork. Of languages, by the 
help of a memory singularly powerful, he learned as much as 
was necessary to enable him to comprehend and answer with- 
out assistance everything that was said to him, and every letter 
which he received. The Dutch was his own tongue. He 
understood Latin, Italian, and Spanish. He spoke and wrote 
French, English, and German, inelegantly it is true and inex- 
actly, but fluently and intelligibly. No qualification could be 
more important to a man whose life was to be passed in organ- 



HISTORICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL EXTRACTS. 173 

izing great alliances and in commanding armies assembled from 
different countries. Macaulay. 



4. CHARACTER OF MR PITT. 

The secretary' stood alone\ Modern degeneracy' had not 
reached' him. Original' and unaccommodating', the features 
of his character' had the hardihood of antiquity'. His august 
mind' overawed majesty itself. No state chicanery', no nar- 
row system of vicious polities', no idle contest for ministerial 
victories', sunk him to the vulgar level of the great' ; but 
overbearing', persuasive', and impracticable', his object' was 
England', his ambition' was fame'. Without dividing', he 
destroyed' party; without corrupting', he made a venal age 
unanimous'. France' sunk' beneath him. With one' hand 
he smote the house of Bourbon', and wielded in the other' the 
democracy of England'. The sight of his mind' was infinite' ; 
and his schemes were to affect, not England', not the present' 
age only, but Europe' and posterity'. Wonderful were the 
means' by which these schemes were accomplished' ; always 
seasonable', always adequate', the suggestions of an under- 
standing animated by ardour', and enlightened by prophecy'. 

The ordinary feelings which make life amiable and indolent' 
were unknown' to him. No domestic difficulties', no domestic 
weakness' reached him ; but aloof from the sordid occurrences 
of life', and unsullied by its intercourse', he came occasionally* 
into our system, to counsel' and to decide\ 

A character' so exalted', so strenuous', so various', so author- 
itative', astonished' a corrupt age, and the treasury trembled 
at the name of Pitt' through all her classes of venality'. Cor- 
ruption imagined', indeed, that she had found defects' in this 
statesman, and talked much of the inconsistency of his glory', 
and much of the ruin of his victories' ; but the history of his 
country', and the calamities of the enemy', answered' and 
refuted' her. 

Nor were his political' abilities his only' talents. His elo- 
quence' was an era' in the senate, peculiar' and spontaneous', 
familiarly expressing gigantic sentiments' and instinctive wis- 



174 HISTORICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL EXTRACTS. 

dom"; not like the torrent of Demosthenes', or the splendid 
conflagration of Tully' ; it resembled sometimes the thunder', 
and sometimes the music v of the spheres. He did not conduct 
the understanding through the painful subtilty of argumenta- 
tion 7 ; nor was he for ever on the rack of exertion' ; but rather 
lightened" upon the subject, and reached the point' by the 
flashings of the mind", which', like those of his eye", were felt', 
but could not be followed". 

Upon the whole", there was in this man something that could 
create', subvert', or reform" ; an understanding", a spirit", and 
an eloquence', to summon mankind to society', or to break the 
bonds of slavery" asunder, and to rule the wildness of free' minds 
with unbounded authority" ; something that could establish' or 
overwhelm" empire, and strike a blow' in the world that should 
resound through the universe". Grattan. 



5. CHARACTER OF LORD CLIVE. 

Lord Clive committed great faults, and we have not attempted 
to disguise them. But his faults, when weighed against his 
merits, and viewed in connexion with his temptations, do not 
appear to us to deprive him of his right to an honourable place 
in the estimation of posterity. 

From his first visit to India dates the renown of the English 
arms in the east. Till he appeared his countrymen were de- 
spised as mere pedlars, while the French were revered as a 
people formed for victory and command. His courage and 
capacity dissolved the charm. With the defence of Arcot 
commences that long series of Oriental triumphs which closes 
with the fall of Ghizni. Nor must we forget that he was only 
twenty-five years old when he approved himself ripe for mili- 
tary command. This is a rare if not a singular distinction. 
It is true that Alexander, Conde, and Charles the Twelfth, 
won great battles at a still earlier age ; but those princes were 
surrounded by veteran generals of distinguished skill, to whose 
suggestions must be attributed the victories of the Granicus, 
of Eocroi, and of Narva. Clive, an inexperienced youth, had 



HISTORICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL EXTRACTS. 175 

yet more experience than any of those who served under him. 
He had to form himself, to form his officers, and to form his 
army. The only man, as far as we recollect, who at an equally 
early age ever gave equal proof of talents for war, was Napo- 
leon Bonaparte. 

From Olive's second visit to India dates the political as- 
cendency of the English in that country. His dexterity and 
resolution realized, in the course of a few months, more than 
all the gorgeous visions which had floated before the imagi- 
nation of Dupleix. Such an extent of cultivated territory, 
such an amount of revenue, such a multitude of subjects, was 
never added to the dominion of Eome by the most successful 
proconsul. Nor were such wealthy spoils ever borne under 
arches of triumph, down the Sacred Way, and through the 
crowded Forum, to the threshold of Tarpeian Jove. The 
fame of those who subdued Antiochus and Tigranes grows 
dim when compared with the splendour of the exploits which 
the young English adventurer achieved at the head of an 
army not equal in numbers to one-half of a Eoman legion. 

From Olive's third visit to India dates the purity of the 
administration of our eastern empire. When he landed in 
Calcutta in 1765, Bengal was regarded as a place to which 
Englishmen were sent only to get rich by any means in the 
shortest possible time. He first made dauntless and unspar- 
ing war on that gigantic system of oppression, extortion, and 
corruption. In that war he manfully put to hazard his ease, 
his fame, and his splendid fortune. The same sense of justice 
which forbids us to conceal or extenuate the faults of his ear- 
lier days, compels us to admit that those faults were nobly 
repaired. If the reproach of the Company and of its servants 
has been taken away, if in India the yoke of foreign masters, 
elsewhere the heaviest of all yokes, has been found lighter 
than that of any native dynasty, if to that gang of public rob- 
bers, which formerly spread terror through the whole plain of 
Bengal, has succeeded a body of functionaries not more highly 
distinguished by ability and diligence than by integrity, dis- 
interestedness, and public spirit, if we now see such men as 
Munro, Elphinstone, and Metcalfe, after leading victorious 



176 HISTORICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL EXTRACTS. 

armies, after making and deposing kings, return, proud of 
their honourable poverty, from a land which once held out to 
every greedy factor the hope of boundless wealth, the praise 
is in no small measure due to Clive. His name stands high 
in the roll of conquerors. But it is found in a better list, in 
the list of those who have done and suffered much for the 
happiness of mankind. To the warrior, history will assign a 
place in the same rank with Lucullus and Trajan. Nor will 
she deny to the reformer a share of that veneration with which 
France cherishes the memory of Turgot, and with which the 
latest generation of Hindoos will contemplate the statue of 
Lord William Bentinck. Macaulay. 



6. CHARACTER OF ADDISON* 

As a describer of life and manners he must be allowed to stand 
perhaps the first of the first rank. His humour, which, as Steele 
observes, is peculiar to himself, is so happily diffused as to give 
the grace of novelty to domestic scenes and daily occurrences. 
He never " outsteps the modesty of nature," nor raises merri- 
ment or wonder by the violation of truth. His figures neither 
divert by distortion nor amaze by aggravation. He copies life 
with so much fidelity that he can hardly be said to invent ; yet 
his exhibitions have an air so much original that it is difficult 
to suppose them not merely the product of imagination. As a 
teacher of wisdom he may be confidently followed. His relig- 
ion has nothing in it enthusiastic or superstitious ; he appears 
neither weakly credulous nor wantonly sceptical ; his moral- 
ity is neither dangerously lax nor impracticably rigid. All 
the enchantment of fancy and all the cogency of argument 
are employed to recommend to the reader his real interest, the 
care of pleasing the author of his being. Truth is shown 
sometimes as the phantom of a vision ; sometimes appears half- 
veiled in allegory ; sometimes attracts regard in the robes of 
fancy ; and sometimes steps forth in the confidence of reason. 
She wears a thousand dresses, and in all is pleasing. 

His prose is the model of the middle style ; on grave sub- 



HISTORICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL EXTRACTS. 177 

jects not formal, on light occasions not groveling ; pnre without 
scrupulosity, and exact without apparent elahoration ; always 
equable and always easy, without glowing words or pointed 
sentences. Addison never deviates from his track to snatch 
a grace ; he seeks no ambitious ornaments, and tries no haz- 
ardous innovations. His page is always luminous, but never 
blazes in unexpected splendour. It was apparently his prin- 
cipal endeavour to avoid all harshness and severity of diction ; 
he is therefore sometimes verbose in his transitions and con- 
nexions, and sometimes descends too much to the language of 
conversation ; yet if his language had been less idiomatical it 
might have lost somewhat of its genuine Anglicism. What he 
attempted he performed ; he is never feeble, and he did not 
wish to be energetic ; he is never rapid, and he never stag- 
nates. His sentences have neither studied amplitude nor af- 
fected brevity ; his periods, though not diligently rounded, are 
voluble and easy. Whoever wishes to attain an English style, 
familiar but not coarse, and elegant but not ostentatious, must 
give his days and nights to the volumes of Addison. 

Dr Johnson. 



7. — CHARACTER OF JAMES WATT. 

Watt has been called the great Improver of the steam-engine, 
but in truth, as to all that is admirable in its structure or vast 
in its utility, he should rather be described as its Inventor. It 
was by his inventions that its action was so regulated as to 
make it capable of being applied to the finest and most delicate 
manufactures, and its power so increased as to set weight and 
solidity at defiance. By his admirable contrivance, it has be- 
come a thing stupendous alike for its force and its flexibility — 
for the prodigious power which it can exert, and the ease, and 
precision, and ductility, with which that power can be varied, 
distributed, and applied. The trunk of an elephant, that can 
pick up a pin or rend an oak, is as nothing to it. It can engrave 
a seal, and crush masses of obdurate metal before it, draw out, 
without breaking, a thread as fine as gossamer, and lift a ship 
of war like a bauble in the air. It can embroider muslin and 

h2 



178 HISTORICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL EXTRACTS. 

forge anchors — cut steel into ribands, and impel loaded vessels 
against the fury of the winds and waves. 

It would be difficult to estimate the value of the benefits 
which these inventions have conferred upon this country. 
There is no branch of industry that has not been indebted to 
them ; and, in all the most material, they have not only widened 
most magnificently the field of its exertions, but multiplied a 
thousandfold the amount of its productions. It is to the genius 
of one man, too, that all this is mainly owing. And certainly 
no man ever bestowed such a gift on his kind. The blessing 
is not only universal but unbounded ; and the fabled inventors 
of the plough and the loom, who were deified by the erring 
gratitude of their rude contemporaries, conferred less important 
benefits on mankind than the inventor of our present steam- 
engine. 

This will be the fame of Watt with future generations ; and 
it is sufficient for his race and his country. But to those to 
whom he more immediately belonged, who lived in his society 
and enjoyed his conversation, it is not perhaps the character 
in which he will be most frequently recalled, most deeply la- 
mented, or even most highly admired. Independently of his 
great attainments in mechanics, Mr Watt was an extraordi- 
nary, and, in many respects, a wonderful man. Perhaps no 
individual in his age possessed so much and such varied and 
exact information, had read so much, or remembered what he 
had read so accurately and well. He had infinite quickness 
of apprehension, a prodigious memory, and a certain rectifying 
and methodizing power of understanding, which extracted 
something precious out of all that was presented to it. His 
stores of miscellaneous knowledge were immense, and yet less 
astonishing than the command he had at all times over them. 
It seemed as if every subject that was casually started in con- 
versation with him had been that which he had been last oc- 
cupied in studying and exhausting — such was the copiousness, 
the precision, and the admirable clearness of the information 
which he poured out upon it, without effort or hesitation. Nor 
was this promptitude and compass of knowledge confined in 
any degree to the studies connected with his ordinary pursuits. 



HISTORICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL EXTRACTS. 179 

That he should have been minutely and extensively skilled in 
chemistry and the arts, and in most of the branches of physical 
science, might perhaps have been conjectured. But it could 
not have been inferred from his usual occupations that he was 
curiously learned in many branches of antiquity, metaphysics, 
medicine, and etymology, and perfectly at home in all the de- 
tails of architecture, music, and law. He was well acquainted, 
too, with most of the modern languages, and familiar with their 
most recent literature. Nor was it at all extraordinary to hear 
the great mechanician and engineer detailing and expounding 
for hours together the metaphysical theories of the German 
logicians, or criticising the measures or the matter of the Ger- 
man poetry. Jeffrey. 



8. THE CHARACTER OF HANNIBAL. 

Hannibal being sent to Spain, on his arrival there attracted 
the eyes of the whole army. The veterans believed Hamilcar 
was revived and restored to them : they saw the same vigorous 
countenance, the same piercing eye, the same complexion and 
features. But in a short time his behaviour occasioned this 
resemblance of his father to contribute the least towards his 
gaining their favour. And, in truth, never was there a genius 
more happily formed for two things most manifestly contrary 
to each other — to obey and to command. This made it diffi- 
cult to determine, whether the general or soldiers loved him 
most. Where any enterprise required vigour and valour in 
the performance, Asdrubal always chose him to command at 
the executing of it ; nor were the troops ever more confident 
of success, or more intrepid, than when he was at their head. 
None ever showed greater bravery in undertaking hazardous 
attempts, or more presence of mind and conduct in the exe- 
cution of them. No hardship could fatigue his body, or daunt 
his courage : he could equally bear cold and heat. The nec- 
essary refection of nature, not the pleasure of his palate, he 
solely regarded in his meals. He made no distinction of day 
and night in his watching, or taking rest ; and appropriated 



180 HISTORICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL EXTRACTS. 

no time to sleep, but what remained after he had completed 
his duty : he never sought for a soft or a retired place of repose ; 
but was often seen lying on the bare ground, wrapt in a sol- 
dier's cloak, amongst the sentinels and guards. He did not 
distinguish himself from his companions by the magnificence 
of his dress, but by the quality of his horse and arms. At the 
same time, he was by far the best foot and horse soldier in the 
army; ever the foremost in a charge, and the last who left 
the field after the battle was begun. These shining qualities 
were, however, balanced by great vices; inhuman cruelty; 
more than Carthaginian treachery; no respect for truth or 
honour, no fear of the gods, no regard for the sanctity of oaths, 
no sense of religion. With a disposition thus chequered with 
virtues and vices, he served three years under Asdrubal, with- 
out neglecting to pry into, or perform any thing, that could 
contribute to make him hereafter a complete general. 

LlVY. 



9. THE CHARACTER OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

To all the charms of beauty, and the utmost elegance of exter- 
nal form, Mary added those accomplishments which render their 
impression irresistible. Polite, affable, insinuating, sprightly, 
and capable of speaking and of writing with equal ease and 
dignity. Sudden, however, and violent in all her attachments ; 
because she had been accustomed from her infancy to be treated 
as a queen. No stranger, on some occasions, to dissimulation ; 
which, in that perfidious court where she received her educa- 
tion, was reckoned among the necessary arts of government. 
Not insensible of flattery, or unconscious of that pleasure, with 
which almost every woman beholds the influence of her own 
beauty. Formed with the qualities that we love, not with the 
talents that we admire, she was an agreeable woman rather 
than an illustrious queen. The vivacity of her spirit, not suf- 
ficiently tempered with sound judgment, and the warmth of 
her heart, which was not at all times under the restraint of 
discretion, betrayed her both into errors and into crimes. To 
say that she was always unfortunate, will not account for that 



HISTORICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL EXTRACTS. 181 

long and almost uninterrupted succession of calamities which 
befell her ; we must likewise add, that she was often imprudent. 
Her passion for Darnley was rash, youthful, and excessive ; 
and though the sudden transition to the opposite extreme was 
the natural effect of her ill-requited love, and of his ingrati- 
tude, insolence, and brutality, yet neither these, nor Bothwell's 
artful addresses and important services, can justify her attach- 
ments to that nobleman. Even the manners of the age, li- 
centious as they were, are no apology for this unhappy passion ; 
nor can they induce us to look on that tragical and infamous 
scene which followed it, with less abhorrence. Humanity will 
draw a veil over this part of her character, which it cannot 
approve, and may, perhaps, prompt some to impute her actions 
to her situation more than to her disposition ; and to lament 
the unhappiness of the former, rather than accuse the per- 
verseness of the latter. Mary's sufferings exceed, both in 
degree and in duration, those tragical distresses which fancy 
has feigned to excite sorrow and commiseration ; and while we 
survey them, we are apt altogether to forget her frailties ; we 
think of her faults with less indignation, and approve of our 
tears, as if they were shed for a person who had attained much 
nearer to pure virtue. No man, says Brantome, ever beheld 
her person without admiration and love, or will read her his- 
tory without sorrow. Kobertson. 



PATHETIC EXTRACTS. 



The head and "body of Monmouth were placed in a coffin cov- 
ered with black velvet, and were laid privately tinder the 
communion table of St Paul's Chapel in the Tower. In truth 
there is no sadder spot on earth than that little cemetery. 
Death is there associated, not, as in Westminster Abbey and 
St Paul's, with genius and virtue, with public veneration and 
with imperishable renown ; not, as in our humblest churches 
and churchyards, with every thing that is most endearing in 
social and domestic charities, but with whatever is darkest in 
human nature and in human destiny, with the savage triumph 
of implacable enemies, with the inconstancy, the ingratitude, 
the cowardice of friends, with all the miseries of fallen great- 
ness and of blighted fame. Thither have been carried, through 
successive ages, by the rude hands of gaolers, without one 
mourner following, the bleeding relics of men who had been 
the captains of armies, the leaders of parties, the oracles of 
senates, and the ornaments of courts. Thither was borne, 
before the window where Jane Grey was praying, the man- 
gled corpse of Guildford Dudley. Edward Seymour, Duke of 
Somerset, reposes there by the brother whom he murdered. 
There has mouldered away the headless trunk of John Fisher, 
Bishop of Kochester and Cardinal of St Vitalis, a man worthy 
to have lived in a better age. There are laid John Dudley, 
Duke of Northumberland, lord high admiral, and Thomas 
Cromwell, Earl of Essex, lord high treasurer. There, too, is 
another Essex on whom nature and fortune had lavished all 
their bounties in vain, and whom valour, grace, genius, royal 
favour, popular applause, conducted to an early and ignomin- 
ious doom. Not far off sleep two chiefs of the great house of 
Howard — Thomas, fourth Duke of Norfolk, and Philip, elev- 
enth Earl of Arundel. Here and there among the thick graves 
of unquiet and aspiring statesmen lie more delicate sufferers — 



PATHETIC EXTRACTS. 183 

Margaret of Salisbury, the last of the proud name of Planta- 
genet, and those two fair queens who perished by the jealous 
rage of Henry. Such was the dust with which the dust of 
Monmouth was mingled. Macaulay. 



2. THE FUNERAL OF THE FISHERMAN'S SON, FROM THE 

ANTIQUARY. 

The Antiquary, being now alone, hastened his pace, and soon 
arrived before the half-dozen cottages at Mussel-crag. They 
now had, in addition to their usual squalid and uncomfortable 
appearance, the melancholy attributes of the house of mourn- 
ing. The boats were all drawn up on the beach ; and, though 
the day was fine and the season favourable, the chant, which 
is used by the fishers when at sea, was silent, as well as the 
prattle of the children, and the shrill song of the mother as she 
sits mending her nets by the door. A few of the neighbours, 
some in their antique and well-saved suits of black, others in 
their ordinary clothes, but all bearing an expression of mourn- 
ful sympathy with distress so sudden and unexpected, stood 
gathered around the door of Mucklebackit's cottage, waiting 
till " the body was lifted." As the Laird of Monkbarns ap- 
proached, they made way for him to enter, doffing their hats 
and bonnets as he passed with an air of melancholy courtesy, 
and he returned their salutes in the same manner. 

In the inside of the cottage was a scene which our Wilkie 
alone could have painted with that exquisite feeling of nature 
that characterizes his enchanting productions. 

The body was laid in its coffin within the wooden bedstead 
which the young fisher had occupied while alive. At a little 
distance stood the father, whose rugged weather-beaten coun- 
tenance, shaded by his grizzled hair, had faced many a stormy 
night and nightlike day. He was apparently revolving his 
loss in his mind with that strong feeling of painful grief pe- 
culiar to harsh and rough characters, which almost breaks 
forth into hatred against the world and all that remain in it 
after the beloved object is withdrawn. The old man had made 



184 PATHETIC EXTRACTS. 

the most desperate efforts to save his son, and had been with- 
held only by main force from renewing them at a moment 
when, without the possibility of assisting the sufferer, he must 
himself have perished. All this apparently was boiling in his 
recollection. His glance was directed sidelong towards the 
coffin as to an object on which he could not steadfastly look, 
and yet from which he could not withdraw his eyes. His an- 
swers to the necessary questions which were occasionally put 
to him were brief, harsh, and almost fierce. His family had 
not yet dared to address to him a word either of sympathy or 
consolation. His masculine wife, virago as she was, and ab- 
solute mistress of the family, as she justly boasted herself on all 
ordinary occasions, was, by this great loss, terrified into silence 
and submission, and compelled to hide from her husband's ob- 
servation the bursts of her female sorrow. As he had rejected 
food ever since the disaster had happened, not daring herself 
to approach him, she had that morning with affectionate arti- 
fice employed the youngest and favourite child to present her 
husband with some nourishment. His first action was to push 
it from him with an angry violence that frightened the child, 
his next, to snatch up the boy and devour him with kisses. 
Such was the disconsolate state of the father. 

In another corner of the cottage, her face covered by her 
apron, which was flung over it, sat the mother, the nature of 
her grief sufficiently indicated by the wringing of her hands 
and the convulsive agitations of her bosom, which the covering 
could not conceal. Two of her gossips, officiously whispering into 
her ear the commonplace topic of resignation under irremedi- 
able misfortune, seemed as if they were endeavouring to stem 
the grief which they could not console. The sorrow of the 
children was mingled with wonder at the preparations they 
beheld around them, and at the unusual display of wheaten 
bread and wine, which the poorest peasant or fisher offers to 
the guests on these mournful occasions ; and thus their grief 
for their brother's death was almost already lost in admiration 
of the splendour of his funeral. 

The coffin, covered with a pall, and supported upon hand- 
spikes by the nearest relatives, now only waited the father to 



PATHETIC EXTRACTS. 185 

support the head as is customary. Two or three of these priv- 
ileged persons spoke to him, but he answered only by shaking 
his hand and his head in token of refusal. 

The mourners, in regular gradation according to their rank 
or their relationship to the deceased, had filed from the cottage, 
while the younger male children were led along to totter after 
the bier of their brother, and to view with wonder a ceremonial 
which they could hardly comprehend. The female gossips next 
rose to depart, and, with consideration for the situation of the 
parents, carried along with them the girls of the family, to give 
the unhappy pair time and opportunity to open their hearts to 
each other, and soften their grief by communicating it. But 
their kind intention was without effect. The last of them 
had darkened the entrance of the cottage as she went out, and 
drawn the door softly behind her, when the father, first ascer- 
taining by a hasty glance that no stranger remained, started 
up, clasped his hands wildly above his head, uttered a cry of 
despair which he had hitherto repressed, and, in all the impo- 
tent impatience of grief, half rushed, half staggered forward 
to the bed on which the coffin had been deposited, threw him- 
self down upon it, and smothering, as it were, his head among 
the bed-clothes, gave vent to the full passion of his sorrow. 
It was in vain that the wretched mother, terrified by the vehe- 
mence of her husband's affliction — affliction still more fearful 
as agitating a man of hardened manners and a robust frame — 
suppressed her own sobs and tears, and, pulling him by the 
skirts of his coat, implored him to rise and remember that, 
though one was removed, he had still a wife and children to 
comfort and support. The appeal came at too early a period 
of his anguish, and was totally unattended to ; he continued 
to remain prostrate, indicating, by sobs so bitter and violent, 
that they shook the bed and partition against which it rested, 
by clenched hands which grasped the bed-clothes, and by the 
vehement and convulsive motion of his legs, how deep and 
how terrible was the agony of a father's sorrow. Scott. 



186 PATHETIC EXTRACTS. 
3. MARIA. PART I. 

They were the sweetest notes I ever heard ; and I 



instantly let down the fore-glass to hear them more distinctly. 
— Tis Maria, said the postilion, observing I was listening — 
Poor Maria, continued he, (leaning his body on one side to let 
me see her, for he was in a line betwixt us), is sitting upon a 
bank playing her vespers upon her pipe, with her little goat 
beside her. 

The young fellow uttered this with an accent and a look so 
perfectly in tune to a feeling heart, that I instantly made a 
vow, I would give him a four- and- twenty sous piece, when I 
got to Moulines. 

And who is poor Maria ? said I. 



The love and pity of all the villages around us, said the 
postilion — it is but three years ago, that the sun did not shine 
upon so fair, so quick-witted, and amiable a maid ; and better 
fate did Maria deserve, than to have her banns forbid, by the 
intrigues of the curate of the parish who published them. 

He was going on, when Maria, who had made a short pause, 
put the pipe to her mouth and began the air again — they were 
the same notes ; — yet were ten times sweeter : It is the even- 
ing service to the Virgin, said the young man — but who has 
taught her to play it — or how she came by her pipe, no one 
knows ; we think that Heaven has assisted her in both ; for 
ever since she has been unsettled in her mind, it seems her 
only consolation — she has never once had the pipe out of her 
hand, but plays that service upon it almost night and day. 

The postilion delivered this with so much discretion and 
natural eloquence, that I could not help deciphering something 
in his face above his condition, and should have sifted out his 
history, had not poor Maria's taken such full possession of me. 

We had got up by this time almost to the bank where Maria 
was sitting : she was in a thin white jacket, with her hair, all 
but two tresses, drawn up into a silk net, with a few olive 
leaves twisted a little fantastically on one side — she was beau- 
tiful ; and if ever I felt the full force of an honest heart-ach, 
it was the moment I saw her. 



PATHETIC EXTRACTS. 187 

God help her ! poor damsel ! above a hundred masses, 

said the postilion, have been said in the several parish churches 
and convents around, for her, — but without effect ; we have 
still hopes, as she is sensible for short intervals, that the Virgin 
at last will restore her to herself ; but her parents, who know 
her best, are hopeless upon that score, and think her senses are 
lost for ever. 

As the postilion spoke this, Maria made a cadence so mel- 
ancholy, so tender and querulous, that I sprung out of the 
chaise to help her, and found myself sitting betwixt her and 
her goat before I relapsed from my enthusiasm. 

Maria looked wistfully for some time at me, and then at her 
goat, — and then at me — and then at her goat again, and so on, 
alternately. 

Well, Maria, said I softly — what resemblance do you 

find? 

I do entreat the candid reader to believe me, that it was 
from the humblest conviction of what a beast man is, that I 
asked the question ; and that I would not have let fall an un- 
seasonable pleasantry in the venerable presence of Misery, to 
be entitled to all the wit that Eabelais ever scattered. 

Adieu, Maria ! — adieu, poor hapless damsel ! some time, but 
not now, I may hear thy sorrows from thy own lips — but I was 
deceived ; for that moment she took her pipe and told me such 
a tale of woe with it, that I rose up, and with broken and 
irregular steps walked softly to my chaise. Sterne. 



4. MARIA. PART II. 

When we had got within half a league of Moulines, at a little 
opening in the road leading to a thicket, I discovered poor 
Maria sitting under a poplar — she was sitting with her elbow 
in her lap, and her head leaning on one side within her hand 
— a small brook ran at the foot of the tree. 

I bade the postilion go on with the chaise to Moulines — and 
La Fleur to bespeak my supper — and that I would walk after 
him. 



188 PATHETIC EXTRACTS. 

She was dressed in white, and much as my friend described 
her, except that her hair hung loose, which before was twisted 
within a silk net. She had, superadded likewise to her jacket, 
a pale -green riband which fell across her shoulder to the waist ; 
at the end of which hung her pipe. Her goat had been as 
faithless as her lover ; and she had got a little dog in lieu of 
him, which she had kept tied by a string to her girdle : as I 
looked at her dog, she drew him towards her with the string — 
" Thou shalt not leave me, Sylvio," said she. I looked in 
Maria's eyes, and saw she was thinking more of her father 
than of her lover or her little goat ; for as she uttered them 
the tears trickled down her cheeks. 

I sat down close by her ; and Maria let me wipe them away, 
as they fell, with my handkerchief. I then steeped it in my 
own — and then in hers — and then in mine — and then I wiped 
hers again — and as I did it, I felt such indescribable emotions 
within me, as I am sure could not be accounted for from any 
combinations of matter and motion. 

I am positive I have a soul ; nor can all the books with 
which materialists have pestered the world ever convince me 
of the contrary. 

When Maria had come a little to herself, I asked her if she 
remembered a pale thin person of a man who had sat down 
betwixt her and her goat about two years before ; she said, 
she was unsettled much at that time, but remembered it upon 
two accounts — that, ill as she was, she saw the person pitied 
her ; and next, that her goat had stolen his handkerchief, and 
she had beat him for the theft — she had washed it, she said, 
iu the brook, and kept it ever since in her pocket to restore 
it to him in case she should ever see him again, which, she 
added, he had half-promised her. As she told me this, she 
took the handkerchief out of her pocket to let me see it ; she 
had folded it up neatly in a couple of vine leaves, tied round 
with a tendril — on opening it I saw an S marked in one of 
the corners. 

She had since that, she told me, strayed as far as Eome, 
and walked round St Peter's once — and returned back — that 
she found her way alone across the Apennines — had travelled 



PATHETIC EXTRACTS. 189 

over all Lombardy without money — and through the flinty 
roads of Savoy without shoes — how she had borne it, and how 
she had got supported, she could not tell — but God tempers 
the wind, said Maria, to the shorn lamb. 

Shorn indeed ! and to the quick, said I ; and wast thou in 
my own land, where I have a cottage, I would take thee to it 
and shelter thee ; thou shouldst eat of my own bread, and drink 
of my own cup — I would be kind to thy Sylvio — in all thy 
weaknesses and wanderings I would seek after thee and bring 
thee back — when the sun went down I would say my prayers, 
and when I had done, thou shouldst play thy evening song 
upon thy pipe, nor would the incense of my sacrifice be worse 
accepted for entering heaven along with that of a broken 
heart. 

Nature melted within me, as I uttered this ; and Maria 
observing, as I took out my handkerchief, that it was steeped 
too much already to be of use, would needs go wash it in the 
stream. — And where will you dry it, Maria ? said I. I will 
dry it in my bosom, said she — it will do me good. 
And is your heart still so warm, Maria? said I. 
I touched upon the string on which hung all her sorrows — 
she looked with wistful disorder for some time in my face ; and 
then, without saying any thing, took her pipe, and played her 
service to the Virgin. — The string I had touched ceased to 
vibrate — in a moment or two Maria returned to herself — let 
her pipe fall — and rose up. 

And where are you going, Maria? said I.— She said, to 
Moulines. — Let us go, said I, together. — Maria put her arm 
within mine, and lengthening the string, to let the dog fol- 
low — in that order we entered Moulines. 

Though I hate salutations and greetings in the market- 
place, yet when we got into the middle of this, I stopped to 
take my last look and last farewell of Maria. 

Adieu, poor luckless maiden ! imbibe the oil and wine which 
the compassion of a stranger, as he journeyeth on his way, now 
pours into thy wounds — the Being who has twice bruised thee 
can only bind them up for ever. Sterne. 



SPECIMENS OF PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 



1. THE CHANGE PRODUCED BY DEATH. 

It is a mighty change that is made by the death of every per- 
son, and it is visible to us who are alive. Reckon but from 
the sprightliness of youth, and the fair cheeks and full eyes of 
childhood, from the vigorousness and strong flexure of the 
joints of five and twenty, to the hollowness and dead paleness, 
to the loathsomeness and horror of a three days' burial, and we 
shall perceive the distance to be very great and very strange. 
But so have I seen a rose newly springing from the clefts of 
its hood, and at first it was fair as the morning, and full with 
the dew of heaven, as a lamb's fleece ; but when a ruder breath 
had dismantled its too youthful and unripe retirements, it began 
to put on darkness, and to decline to softness and the symptoms 
of a sickly age ; it bowed the head and broke its stalk ; and 
at night, having lost some of its leaves and all its beauty, it 
fell into the portion of weeds and outworn faces. The same 
is the portion of every man and of every woman ; the heritage 
of worms and serpents, rottenness and cold dishonour, and our 
beauty so changed that our acquaintance quickly know us not ; 
and that change mingled with so much horror, or else meets 
so with our fears and weak discoursings, that they who six 
hours ago tended upon us, either with charitable or ambitious 
services, cannot, without some regret, stay in the room alone 
where the body lies stripped of its life and honour. I have 
read of a fair young German gentleman, who living, often re- 
fused to be pictured, but put off the importunity of his friends 
by giving way, that, after a few days' burial, they might send 
a painter to his vault, and, if they saw cause for it, draw the 
image of his death unto the life. They did so, and found his 
face half-eaten, and his midriff and backbone full of serpents ; 
and so he stands pictured among his armed ancestors. So does 
the fairest beauty change, and it will be as bad for you and me ; 
and then what servants shall we have to wait upon us in the 



SPECIMENS OF PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 191 

grave ? what friends to visit us ? what officious people to cleanse 
away the moist and unwholesome cloud reflected upon our faces 
from the sides of the weeping vaults, wdiich are the longest 
weepers for our funerals. A man may read a sermon the best 
and most passionate that ever man preached, if he shall but 
enter into the sepulchres of kings. In the same Escurial where 
the Spanish princes live in greatness and power, and decree 
war and peace, they have wisely placed a cemetery, where their 
ashes and their glory shall sleep till time shall be no more ; 
and where our kings have been crowned their ancestors lie in- 
terred, and they must walk over their grandsire's coffin to take 
his crown. There is an acre sown with royal seed, the copy of 
the greatest change from rich to naked, from ceiled roofs to 
arched coffins, from living like gods to die like men. 

Jeremy Taylor. 



2. — CHARITY. 

Is any man fallen into disgrace ? charity doth hold down its 
head, is abashed and out of countenance, partaking of his shame. 
Is any man disappointed of his hopes or endeavours ? charity 
crieth out, alas ! as if it were itself defeated. Is any man af- 
flicted with pain or sickness ? charity looketh sadly, it sigheth 
and groaneth, it fainteth and languisheth with him. Is any 
man pinched with hard want ? charity, if it cannot succour, it 
will condole. Doth ill news arrive ? charity doth hear it with 
an unwilling ear and a sad heart, although not particularly 
concerned in it. The sight of a wreck at sea, of a field spread . 
with carcasses, of a country desolated, of houses burnt and cities 
ruined, and of the like calamities incident to mankind, would 
touch the heart of any man ; but the very report of them would 
affect the heart of charity. Barrow. 



3. ON INFIDELITY. 

Infidelity is a soil as barren of great and sublime virtues as 
it is prolific in crimes. By great and sublime virtues are meant, 



192 SPECIMENS OF PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 

those which are called into action on great and trying occasions, 
which demand the sacrifice of the dearest interests and pros- 
pects of human life, and sometimes of life itself; the virtues, in 
a word, which by their rarity and splendour draw admiration, 
and have rendered illustrious the characters of patriots, mar- 
tyrs, and confessors. It requires but little reflection to perceive, 
that whatever veils a future world, and contracts the limits of 
existence within the present life, must tend in a proportionable 
degree to diminish the grandeur, and narrow the sphere, of 
human agency. 

As well might you expect exalted sentiments of justice from 
a professed gamester, as look for noble principles in the man 
whose hopes and fears are all suspended on the present momeijt, 
and who stakes the whole happiness of his being on the events 
of this vain and fleeting life. If he be ever impelled to the 
performance of great achievements in a good cause, it must be 
solely by the hope of fame, a motive which, besides that it 
makes virtue the servant of opinion, usually grows weaker at 
the approach of death, and which, however it may surmount 
the love of existence in the field of battle, or in the moment 
of public observation, can seldom be expected to operate with 
much force on the retired duties of a private station. Though 
it is confessed great and splendid actions are not the ordinary 
employment of life, but must from their nature be reserved for 
high and eminent occasions, yet that system is essentially de- 
fective which leaves no room for their cultivation. They are 
important, both from their immediate advantage and their re- 
moter influence. 

They often save and always illustrate the age and nation in 
which they appear. They raise the standard of morals ; they 
arrest the progress of degeneracy ; they diffuse a lustre over 
the path of life : — monuments of the greatness of the human 
soul, they present to the world the august image of virtue in 
her sublime st form, from which streams of light and glory issue 
to remote times and ages ; while their commemoration by the 
pen of historians and poets awakens in distant bosoms the sparks 
of kindred excellence. 

Combine the frequent and familiar perpetration of atrocious 



SPECIMENS OF PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 193 

deeds with the dearth of great and generous actions, and you 
have the exact picture of that condition of society which com- 
pletes the degradation of the species — the frightful contrast of 
dwarfish virtues and gigantic vices, where every thing good is 
mean and little, and every thing evil is rank and luxuriant : 
a dead and sickening uniformity prevails, broken only at in- 
tervals by volcanic irruptions of anarchy and crime, 

Eobert Hall. 



4. RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE A SOURCE OF CONSOLATION. 

Without the belief and hope afforded by divine revelation, the 
circumstances of man are extremely forlorn. He finds himself 
placed here as a stranger in a vast universe, where the powers 
and operations of nature are very imperfectly known ; where 
both the beginnings and issues of things are involved in mys- 
terious darkness ; where he is unable to discover, with any cer- 
tainty, whence he sprung, or for what purpose he was brought 
into this state of existence ; whether he be subjected to the 
government of a mild, or of a wrathful ruler ; what construction 
he is to put on many of the dispensations of his providence ; 
and what his fate is to be when he departs hence. What a 
disconsolate situation to a serious, inquiring mind ! The greater 
degree of virtue it possesses, its sensibility is likely to be the 
more oppressed by this burden of labouring thought. Even 
though it were in one's power to banish all uneasy thoughts, 
and to fill up the hours of life with perpetual amusement, life 
so filled up would, upon reflection, appear poor and trivial. 
But these are far from being the terms upon which man is 
brought into this world. He is conscious that his being is frail 
and feeble ; he sees himself beset with various dangers, and is 
exposed to many a melancholy apprehension, from the evils 
which he may have to encounter, before he arrives at the close 
of life. In this distressed condition, to reveal to him such dis- 
coveries of the Supreme Being as the Christian religion affords, 
is to reveal to him a father and a friend ; is to let in a ray of 
the most cheering light upon the darkness of the human estate. 
He who was before a destitute orphan, wandering in the inhos- 



194 SPECIMENS OF PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 

pitable desert, has now gained a shelter from the inclement 
blast. He now knows to whom to pray, and in whom to trust ; 
where to unbosom his sorrows, and from what hand to look for 
relief. 

Upon the approach of death especially, when, if a man thinks 
at all, his anxiety about his future interests must naturally in- 
crease, the power of religious consolation is sensibly felt. Then 
appears, in the most striking light, the high value of the dis- 
coveries made by the Gospel ; not only life and immortality 
revealed, but a Mediator with God discovered ; mercy pro- 
claimed, through him, to the frailties of the penitent and the 
humble ; and his presence promised to be with them when they 
are passing through the valley of the shadow of death, in order 
to bring them safe into unseen habitations of rest and joy. 
Here is ground for their leaving the world with comfort and 
peace. But in this severe and trying period, this labouring 
hour of nature, how shall the unhappy man support himself, 
who knows, or believes not, the hope of religion? Secretly 
conscious to himself, that he has not acted his part as he ought 
to have done, the sins of his past life arise before him in sad 
remembrance. He wishes to exist after death, and yet dreads 
that existence. The Governor of the world is unknown. He 
cannot tell whether every endeavour to obtain his mercy may 
not be in vain. All is awful obscurity around him ; and in 
the midst of endless doubts and perplexities, the trembling, 
reluctant soul is forced away from the body. As the misfor- 
tunes of life must, to such a man, have been most oppressive ; 
so its end is bitter : his sun sets in a dark cloud ; and the night 
of death closes over his head, full of misery. Blair. 



5. ON SPIRITUAL BLINDNESS. 



The awakening from spiritual death calls for a peculiar and a 
preternatural application. We say preternatural, for such is 
the obstinacy of this sleep of nature, that no power within the 
compass of nature can put an end to it. It withstands all the 
demonstrations of arithmetic. Time moves on without disturb- 



SPECIMENS OF PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 195 

ing it. The last messenger lifts many a note of preparation, 
but so deep is the lethargy of our text that he is not heard. 
Every year do his approaching footsteps become more distinct 
and more audible — yet every year rivets the affections of sense 
more tenaciously than before to the scene that is around him. 
One would think that the fall of so many acquaintances on 
every side of him might at length have forced an awakening 
conviction into his heart. One would think, that, standing 
alone, and in mournful survey amid the wreck of former asso- 
ciations, the spell might have been already broken which so 
fastens him to a perishable world. Oh ! why were the tears 
he shed over his children's grave not followed up by the de- 
liverance of his soul from this sore infatuation ? Why, as he 
hung over the dying bed of her with whom he had so oft taken 
counsel about the plans and the interests of life, did he not 
catch a glimpse of this world's vanity, and did not the light 
of truth break in upon his heart from the solemn and appre- 
hended realities beyond it? But no. The enchantment, it 
would appear, is not so easily dissolved. The deep sleep which 
the Bible speaks of is not so easily broken. The conscious 
infirmities of age cannot do it. The frequent and touching 
specimens of mortality around us cannot do it. The rude- en- 
trance of death into our own houses cannot do it. The melting 
of our old society away from us, and the constant succession of 
new faces and new families in their place, cannot do it. The 
tolling of the funeral bell, which has rung so many of our 
companions across the confines of eternity, and in a few little 
years will perform the same office for us, cannot do it. It often 
happens in the visions of the night, that some fancied spectacle 
of terror or shriek of alarm have frightened us out of our sleep 
and our dream together. But the sleep of worldliness stands 
its ground against all this. We hear the moanings of many 
a deathbed, and we witness its looks of imploring anguish, 
and we watch the decay of life as it glimmers onward to its 
final extinction, and we hear the last breath, and we pause 
in the solemn stillness that follows it, till it is broken in upon 
by the bursting agony of the weeping attendants ; and in one 
day more we revisit the chamber of him who, in white and 



196 SPECIMENS OF PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 

shrouded stateliness, lies the effigy of what he was ; and we 
lift the border that is upon the dead man's countenance, and 
there we gaze on that brow so cold and those eyes so motion- 
less ; and in two days more we follow him to the sepulchre, 
and mingled with the earth among which he is laid, we behold 
the skulls and the skeletons of those who have gone before 
him ; and it is the distinct understanding of nature, that soon 
shall every one of us go through the same process of dying, 
and add our mouldering bodies to the mass of corruption that 
we have been contemplating. But mark the derangement of 
nature and how soon again it falls to sleep, among the delusions 
of a world, of the vanity of which it has recently got so striking 
a demonstration. Look onward but one single day more, and 
you behold every trace of this loud and warning voice dissi- 
pated to nothing. The man seemed as if he had been actually 
awakened, but it was only the start and the stupid glare of a 
moment, after which he has lain him down again among the 
visions and the slumbers of a soul that is spiritually dead. He 
has not lost all sensibility any more than the man that is in a 
midnight trance, who is busied with the imaginations of a dream. 
But he has gone back again to the sensibilities of a world which 
he is so speedily to abandon, and in these he has sunk all the 
sensibilities of that everlasting world on the confines of which 
he was treading but yesterday. All is forgotten amid the bar- 
gains and the adventures and the bustle and the expectation 
of the scene that is immediately around him. Eternity is again 
shut out, and amid the dreaming illusions of a fleeting and fan- 
tastic day, does he cradle his infatuated soul into an utter 
unconcern about its coming torments or its coming triumphs. 
Yes ! we have heard the man of serious religion denounced 
as a visionary. But if that be a vision which is a short-lived 
deceit, and that be a sober reality which survives the fluctua- 
tions both of time and of fancy — tell us if such a use of the 
term be not an utter misapplication, and whether, with all the 
justice as well as with all the severity of truth, it may not be 
retorted upon the head of him who, though prized for the 
sagacity of a firm, secular, and much-exercised understanding, 
and honoured in the market-place for his experience in the 



SPECIMENS OF PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 197 

walks and the ways of this world's business, has not so much 
as entered upon the beginning of wisdom, but is toiling away 
all his skill and all his energy on the frivolities of an idiot's 
dream. Chalmers. 



6. ON THE WORKS AND ATTRIBUTES OF THE ALMIGHTY. 

Contemplate the great scenes of nature, and accustom your- 
selves to connect them with the perfections of God. All vast 
and unrneasurable objects are fitted to impress the soul with 
awe. The mountain which rises above the neighbouring hills, 
and hides its head in the sky — the sounding, unfathomed, 
boundless deep — the expanse of Heaven, where above and 
around no limit checks the wondering eye — these objects fill 
and elevate the mind — they produce a solemn frame of spirit, 
which accords with the sentiment of religion. — From the con- 
templation of what is great and magnificent in nature, the 
soul rises to the Author of all. We think of the time which 
preceded the birth of the universe, when no being existed but 
God alone. While unnumbered systems arise in order before 
us, created by his power, arranged by his wisdom, and rilled 
with his presence — the earth and the sea, with all that they 
contain, are hardly beheld amidst the immensity of his works. 
In the boundless subject the soul is lost. It is he who sitteth 
on the circle of the earth, and the inhabitants thereof are as 
grasshoppers. He weigheth the mountains in scales. He 
taketh up the isles as a very little thing. Lord, what is man 
that thou art mindful of him ! 

The face of nature is sometimes clothed with terror. The 
tempest overturns the cedars of Lebanon, or discloses the se- 
crets of the deep. The pestilence wastes — the lightning con- 
sumes — the voice of the thunder is heard on high. Let these 
appearances be connected with the power of God. These are 
the awful ministers of his kingdom. The Lord reigneth, let the 
people tremble. "Who would not fear thee, King of nations ! 
By the greatness of thy power thine enemies are constrained 
to bow. Moodie. 



198 SPECIMENS OF PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 



7. — THE INJUSTICE OF WAR. 

The contests of nations are both the offspring and the parent 
of injustice. The word of God ascribes the existence of war 
to the disorderly passions of men. " Whence come wars and 
fightings among you?" saith the apostle James; "come they 
not from your lusts that war in your members?" It is cer- 
tain two nations cannot engage in hostilities but one party 
must be guilty of injustice ; and if the magnitude of crimes is 
to be estimated by a regard to their consequences, it is difficult 
to conceive an action of equal guilt with the wanton violation 
of peace. Though something must generally be allowed for 
the complexness and intricacy of national claims, and the con- 
sequent liability to deception, yet where the guilt of an unjust 
war is clear and manifest, it sinks every other crime into in- 
significance. If the existence of war always implies injustice, 
in one at least of the parties concerned, it is. also the fruitful 
parent of crimes. It reverses, with respect to its objects, all 
the rules of morality. It is nothing less than a temporary re- 
peal of all the principles of virtue. It is a system out of which 
almost all the virtues are excluded, and in which nearly all 
the vices are incorporated. Whatever renders human nature 
amiable or respectable, whatever engages love or confidence, 
is sacrificed at its shrine. In instructing us to consider a por- 
tion of our fellow-creatures as the proper objects of enmity, it 
removes, as far as they are concerned, the basis of all society, 
of all civilisation and virtue ; for the basis of these is the good 
will due to every individual of the species as being a part of 
ourselves. Erom this principle all the rules of social virtue 
emanate. Justice and humanity in their utmost extent are 
nothing more than the practical application of this great law. 
The sword, and that alone, cuts asunder the bond of consan- 
guinity which unites man to man. As it immediately aims at 
the extinction of life, it is next to impossible, upon the prin- 
ciple that every thing may be lawfully done to him whom we 
have a right to kill, to set limits to military license ; for when 
men pass from the dominion of reason to that of force, what- 



SPECIMENS OF PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 199 

ever restraints are attempted to be laid on the passions will 
be feeble and fluctuating. Though we must applaud, there- 
fore, the attempts of the humane Grotius to blend maxims of 
humanity with military operations, it is to be feared they will 
never coalesce, since the former imply the subsistence of those 
ties which the latter suppose to be dissolved. Hence the moral- 
ity of peaceful times is directly opposite to the maxims of war. 
The fundamental rule of the first is to do good ; of the latter 
to inflict injuries. The former commands us to succour the 
oppressed ; the latter to overwhelm the defenceless. The for- 
mer teaches men to love their enemies; the latter to make 
themselves terrible even to strangers. The rules of morality 
will not suffer us to promote the dearest interest by falsehood ; 
the maxims of war applaud it when employed in the destruc- 
tion of others. That a familiarity with such maxims must tend 
to harden the heart, as well as to pervert the moral sentiments, 
is too obvious to need illustration. The natural consequence 
of their prevalence is an unfeeling and an unprincipled ambi- 
tion, with an idolatry of talent and a contempt of virtue ; 
whence the esteem of mankind is turned from the humble, the 
beneficent, and the good, to men who are qualified by a genius 
fertile in expedients, a courage that is never appalled, and a 
heart that never pities, to become the destroyers of the earth. 
While the philanthropist is devising means to mitigate the evils 
and augment the happiness of the world, a fellow-worker to- 
gether with God, in exploring and giving effect to the benev- 
olent tendencies of nature, the warrior is revolving, in the 
gloomy recesses of his mind, plans of future devastation and 
ruin. Prisons crowded with captives, cities emptied of their 
inhabitants, fields desolate and waste, are among his proudest 
trophies. The fabric of his fame is cemented with tears and 
blood ; and if his name is wafted to the ends of the earth, it 
is in the shrill cry of suffering humanity, in the curses and 
imprecations of those whom his sword has reduced to despair. 

Robert Hall. 



200 SPECIMENS OF PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 

8. — PRAYER. 

Many times good men pray, and their prayer is not a sin, yet 
it returns empty ; because, although the man may be, yet the 
prayer is not, in proper disposition ; and here I am to account 
to you concerning the collateral and accidental hindrances of 
the prayer of a good man. The first thing that hinders the 
prayer of a good man from obtaining its effects is a violent 
anger and a violent storm in the spirit of him that prays. 
For anger sets the house on fire, and all the spirits are busy 
upon trouble, and intend propulsion, defence, displeasure, or 
revenge ; it is a short madness and an eternal enemy to dis- 
course, and sober counsels, and fair conversation ; it intends 
its own object with all the earnestness of perception or activity 
of design, and a quicker motion of a too warm and distempered 
blood ; it is a fever in the heart and a calenture in the head, 
and therefore can never suffer a man to be in a disposition to 
pray. For prayer is an action, and a state of intercourse and 
desire, exactly contrary to the character of anger. Prayer is 
an action of likeness to the Holy Ghost, the spirit of gentle- 
ness and dove-like simplicity ; an imitation of the holy Jesus, 
whose spirit is meekness ; and a conformity to God, whose 
anger is always just and marches slowly, and is full of mercy ; 
prayer is the peace of our spirit, the stillness of our thoughts, 
the evenness of recollection, the seat of meditation, the rest of 
our cares, and the calm of our tempest ; prayer is the issue of 
a quiet mind, of untroubled thoughts ; it is the daughter of 
charity, and the sister of meekness ; and he that prays to God 
with an angry, that is, with a troubled and discomposed spirit, 
is like him that retires into a battle to meditate, and sets up 
his closet in the out- quarters of an army, and chooses a fron- 
tier garrison to be wise in. Anger is a perfect alienation of 
the mind from prayer, and therefore is contrary to that atten- 
tion which presents our prayers in a right line to God. For 
so have I seen a lark rising from his bed of grass, and soaring 
upwards, singing as he rises, and hopes to get to heaven and 
climb above the clouds; but the poor bird was beaten back 
with the loud sighings of an eastern wind, and his motion made 



SPECIMENS OF PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 201 

irregular and inconstant, descending more at every breath of 
the tempest, than it could recover by the libration and fre- 
quent weighing of his wings, till the little creature was forced 
to sit down and pant and stay till the storm was over ; and 
then it made a prosperous night, and did rise and sing as if it 
had learned music and motion from an angel as he passed 
sometimes through the air about his ministries here below. 
So is the prayer of a good man when his affairs have required 
business, and his business was a matter of discipline, and his 
discipline was to pass upon a sinning person, or had a design 
of charity, his duty met with the infirmities of a man, and an- 
ger was its instrument, and the instrument became stronger 
than the prime agent, and raised a tempest, and overruled the 
man ; and then his prayer was broken, and his thoughts were 
troubled, and his words went up towards a cloud, and his 
thoughts pulled them back again, and made them without in- 
tention, and the good man sighs for his infirmity, but must be 
content to lose the prayer, and he must recover it when his 
anger is removed, and his spirit is becalmed, and made even 
as the brow of Jesus, and smooth like the heart of God ; and 
then it ascends to heaven upon the wings of the holy dove, 
and dwells with God till it returns, like the useful bee, laden 
with a blessing and the dew of heaven. Jeremy Taylor. 



9. — on the state of man before the fall. 

The understanding, the noblest faculty of the mind, was then 
sublime, clear, and aspiring, and as it were the soul's upper 
region, lofty and serene, free from the vapours and disturbances 
of the inferior affections. It was the leading, controlling fac- 
ulty ; all the passions wore the colours of reason ; it did not so 
much persuade as command ; it was not consul, but dictator. 
Discourse was then almost as quick as intuition ; it was nimble 
in proposing, firm in concluding; it could sooner determine 
than now it can dispute. Like the sun, it had both light and 
agility ; it knew no rest, but in motion ; no quiet, but in activ- 
ity. It did not so properly apprehend as irradiate the object ; 

i2 



202 SPECIMENS OF PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 

not so much find as make things intelligible. It arbitrated 
upon the several reports of sense, and all the varieties of im- 
agination; not like a drowsy judge, only hearing, but also 
directing their verdict. In short, it was vegete, quick, and 
lively ; open as the day, untainted as the morning, full of the 
innocence and sprightliness of youth ; it gave the soul a bright 
and full view into all things ; and was not only a window, but 
itself the prospect. Adam came into the world a philosopher, 
which sufficiently appeared by his writing the nature of things 
upon their names ; he could view essences in themselves, and 
read forms without the comment of their respective properties ; 
he could see consequents yet dormant in their principles, and 
effects yet unborn in the womb of their causes ; his understand- 
ing could almost pierce into future contingents, his conjectures 
improving even to prophecy, or the certainties of prediction ; 
till his fall he was ignorant of nothing, but sin ; or at least 
it rested in the notion, without the smart of the experiment. 
Could any difficulty have been proposed, the resolution would 
have been as early as the proposal ; it could not have had time 
to settle into doubt. Like a better Archimedes, the issue of 
all his inquiries was an sugjjxa, an zvgrizu, the offspring of his 
brain, without the sweat of his brow. Study was not then a 
duty, night-watchings were needless ; the light of reason wanted 
not the assistance of a candle. This is the doom of fallen man, 
to labour in the fire, to see truth in pro/undo, to exhaust his 
time, and to impair his health, and perhaps to spin out his 
days, and himself, into one pitiful, controverted conclusion. 
There was then no poring, no struggling with memory, no 
straining for invention ; his faculties were quick and expedite ; 
they answered without knocking, they were ready upon the 
first summons; there was freedom and firmness in all their 
operations. I confess, it is as difficult for us, who date our ig- 
norance from our first being, and were still bred up with the 
same infirmities about us with which we were born, to raise 
our thoughts and imaginations to those intellectual perfections 
that attended our nature in the time of innocence, as it is for 
a peasant bred up in the obscurities of a cottage to fancy in 
his mind the unseen splendours of a court. But by rating posi- 



SPECIMENS OP PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 203 

lives by their privitives, and other arts of reason, by which 
discourse supplies the want of the reports of sense, we may col- 
lect the excellency of the understanding then, by the glorious 
remainders of it now, and guess at the stateliness of the build- 
ing by the magnificence of its ruins. All those arts, rarities, 
and inventions, which vulgar minds gaze at, the ingenious 
pursue, and all admire, are but the relics of an intellect defaced 
with sin and time. We admire it now only as antiquaries do 
a piece of old coin for the stamp it once bore, and not for those 
vanishing lineaments and disappearing draughts that remain 
upon it at present. And certainly that must needs have been 
very glorious, the decays of which are so admirable. He that 
is comely when old and decrepit surely was very beautiful 
when he was young. An Aristotle was but the rubbish of an 
Adam, and Athens but the rudiments of Paradise. 

Dr E. South. 



10. THE DEPARTED SPIRITS OP THE JUST ARE SPECTATORS 

OP OUR CONDUCT ON EARTH. 

From what happened on the Mount of Transfiguration, we may 
infer not only that the separated spirits of good men live and 
act, and enjoy happiness, but that they take some interest in 
the business of this world, and even that their interest in it 
has a connexion with the pursuits and habits of their former 
life. The virtuous cares which occupied them on earth follow 
them into their new abode. Moses and Elias had spent the 
days of their temporal pilgrimage in promoting among their 
brethren the knowledge and the worship of the true God. They 
are still attentive to the same great object ; and, enraptured at 
the prospect of its advancement, they descend on this occasion 
to animate the labours of Jesus, and to prepare him for his vic- 
tory over the powers of hell. 

What a delightful subject of contemplation does this reflec- 
tion open to the pious and benevolent mind ! what a spring 
does it give to all the better energies of the heart ! Your 
labours of love, your plans of beneficence, your swellings of 
satisfaction in the rising reputation of those whose virtues you 



204 SPECIMENS OF PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 

have cherished, will not, we have reason to hope, he terminated 
by the stroke of death. No ! your spirits will still linger around 
the objects of their former attachment. They will behold with 
rapture even the distant effects of those beneficent institutions 
which they once delighted to rear; they will watch with a 
pious satisfaction over the growing prosperity of the country 
which they loved ; with a parent's fondness, and a parent's 
exultation, they will share in the fame of their virtuous pos- 
terity ; and, by the permission of God, they may descend at 
times as guardian angels, to shield them from danger, and to 
conduct them to glory." 

Of all the thoughts that can enter the human mind, this is 
one of the most animating and consolatory. It scatters flowers 
around the bed of death. It enables us who are left behind, to 
support with firmness the departure of our best beloved friends ; 
because it teaches us that they are not lost to us for ever. They 
are still our friends. Though they be now gone to another 
apartment in our Father's house, they have carried with them 
the remembrance and the feeling of their former attachments. 
Though invisible to us, they bend from their dwelling on high 
to cheer us in our pilgrimage of duty, to rejoice with us in our 
prosperity, and, in the hour of virtuous exertion, to shed through 
our souls the blessedness of heaven. Finlayson. 



11. RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

Religion, on account of its intimate relation to a future state, 
is every man's proper business, and should be his chief care. 
Of knowledge in general, there are branches which it would 
be preposterous in the bulk of mankind to attempt to acquire, 
because they have no immediate connexion with their duties, 
and demand talents which nature has denied, or opportunities 
which providence has withheld. But with respect to the pri- 
mary truths of religion the case is different ; they are of such 
daily use and necessity, that they form not the materials of 
mental luxury so properly as the food of the mind. In im- 
proving the character, the influence of general knowledge is 



SPECIMENS OF PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 205 

often feeble and always indirect ; of religious knowledge the 
tendency to purify the heart is immediate, and forms its pro- 
fessed scope and design. " This is life eternal, to know thee, 
the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent." 
To ascertain the character of the supreme author of all things, 
to know, as far as we are capable of comprehending such a 
subject, what is his moral disposition, what the situation we 
stand in towards him, and the principles by which he conducts 
his administration, will be allowed by every considerate person 
to be of the highest consequence. Compared to this all other 
speculations sink into insignificance ; because every event that 
can befall us is in his hands, and by his sentence our final 
condition must be fixed. To regard such an inquiry with in- 
difference, is the mark not of a noble, but of an abject mind, 
which, immersed in sensuality, or amused with trifles, " deems 
itself unworthy of eternal life." To be so absorbed in worldly 
pursuits as to neglect future prospects, is a conduct that can 
plead no excuse until it is ascertained beyond all doubt or 
contradiction that there is no hereafter, and that nothing re- 
mains but that " we eat and drink, for to-morrow we die." 
Even in that case, to forego the hope of immortality without 
a sigh ; to be gay and sportive on the brink of destruction, in 
the very moment of relinquishing prospects, on which the 
wisest and the best in every age have delighted to dwell, is 
the indication of a base and degenerate spirit. If existence 
be a good, the eternal loss of it must be a great evil ; if it be 
an evil, reason suggests the propriety of inquiring why it is 
so, of investigating the maladies by which it is oppressed. 
Amidst the darkness and uncertainty which hang over our 
future condition, Eevelation, by bringing life and immortality 
to light, affords the only relief. In the Bible alone we learn 
the real character of the Supreme Being ; his holiness, justice, 
mercy, and truth, the moral condition of man, considered in 
relation to Him, is clearly pointed out, the doom of impenitent 
transgressors denounced ; and the method of obtaining mercy, 
through the interposition of a divine mediator, plainly revealed. 

R. Hall. 



206 SPECIMENS OF PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 



12. THE END OF THE YEAR. 

Another year has now been added to an irrevocable account. 
It has passed into the record of Heaven — into the memory of 
God ! The seal of eternity has been put upon it ; so that it 
stands irreversible for ever ; stands an unalterable portion of 
our everlasting existence. The awful force of this consideration 
comes peculiarly upon the moments and feelings, when we 
could wish some part of it altered. And think with what force 
it would come, if it were under a mere economy of divine jus- 
tice. But then what a glorious appointment of the divine 
mercy is that which can reverse the effect — the actual conse- 
quence of the guilty portion of the past year — reverse it as 
to the appropriate and deserved retribution ! But this doctrine 
of mercy must not be abused, and therefore another thing in 
our review of the past year should be to observe what there 
has been in it which ought not to be in another. Let a careful 
and even severe account be taken of those things ; and then 
say whether it be not enough that the past year bears on its 
character such things for ever. Let them be strongly marked 
as what ought not to pass the dividing line between this year 
and the next ; and let them be earnestly opposed when they 
shall come to do so. Would that an angel, as with a naming 
sword, might stand on the border to repel them ! The Almighty 
Spirit can do this for us. 

Here may arise a further reflection in the form of a question ; 
What would have been our situation if the whole of the year 
had not been given to us ? Would less have sufficed as to the 
supreme purpose of life ? Can we go back in thought to points 
and periods of it and say, there, in its earlier months — or there, 
at the middle, our time might have closed, and all would have 
been well ? or, if near the end, or yesterday, or to-day, our 
time had closed, all had been well ? But if there be not ground 
for an humble confidence that all would have been well, the 
year closes ill. And can there be a mightier admonition for 
the commencement of another year ? 

Another reflection may be on our further experience of mor- 



SPECIMENS OF PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 



207 



tal life and the world. We have seen it — tried it — judged 
it — thus much. Has the estimate brightened upon us by 
experience ? Have we obtained a practical refutation of the 
sacred oracles that have pronounced " Vanity" upon it ? Now 
the results of experience should really stand for something in 
our views of this mortal state — and in the degree of our attach- 
ment to it. And besides, what should be the effect of this fur- 
ther knowledge of the nature and quality of this mortal state ? 
At first we may be said to have had vital ties to the whole 
extent of this mortal life — we held to life by each year of the 
whole allotment. But each year withdrawn cuts that tie, like 
the cutting in succession of each of the spreading roots of a 
tree. The consumption' of this last year has cut away another 
of these holds on life, these ties of connexion and interest. 
Now there should, in spirit and feeling, be a degree of detach- 
ment in proportion. 

In whatever way we consider the subtraction of one year 
from our whole allotment, it is an important circumstance. It 
reduces to a narrower space the uncertainty of life's continu- 
ance. It brings us nearer to see what we are likely to be at 
the end, and after the end. It has increased the religious dan- 
ger, if there be danger. It tells us of too much that now can 
never be done. It has added very greatly to the weight of 
every consideration that ought to impel us to make the utmost 
of what may remain. 

As the last reflection we may suggest, that the year departed 
may admonish us of the strange deceptiveness, the stealthiness 
of the flight of time. There have been a prodigious number 
of minutes and hours to look forward to, and each hour, at the 
time, did not seem to go so wonderfully fast ; and yet how short 
a while they now seem to have been in all vanishing away. 
It will be so in what is to come. Each day will beguile us 
with this deception, if we are not vigilant ; and will leave us 
still to do that which it should have done. Therefore every 
period and portion of it, — the ensuing year and each part of it, 
should be entered on with emphatically imploring our G-od to 
save us from spending it in vain. Foster. 



208 SPECIMENS OF PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 



13. THE PROMISES OF RELIGION TO THE YOUNG. 

In every part of Scripture, it is remarkable with what singular 
tenderness the season of youth is always mentioned, and what 
hopes are afforded to the devotion of the young. It was at 
that age that God appeared unto Moses when he fed his flock 
in the desert, and called him to the command of his own people. 
— It was at that age he visited the infant Samuel, while he 
ministered in the temple of the Lord, " in days when the word 
of the Lord was precious, and when there was no open vision." 
It was at that age that his spirit fell upon David, while he 
was yet the youngest of his father's sons, and when among 
the mountains of Bethlehem he fed his father's sheep. — It was 
at that age, also, " that they brought young children unto 
Christ that he should touch them : and his disciples rebuked 
those that brought them. But when Jesus saw it, he was 
much displeased, and said to them, Suffer little children to 
come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom 
of Heaven." 

If these, then, are the effects and promises of youthful piety, 
rejoice, young man, in thy youth! — rejoice in those days 
which are never to return, when religion comes to thee in all 
its charms, and when the God of nature reveals himself to thy 
soul, like the mild radiance of the morning sun, when he rises 
amid the blessings of a grateful world. If already Devotion 
hath taught thee her secret pleasures ; — if, when Nature meets 
thee in all its magnificence or beauty, thy heart humbleth it- 
self in adoration before the hand which made it, and rejoiceth 
in the contemplation of the wisdom by which it is maintained ; 
— if, when Kevelation unveils her mercies, and the Son of God 
comes forth to give peace and hope to fallen man, thine eye 
follows with astonishment the glories of his path, and pours 
at last over his cross those pious tears which it is a delight to 
shed ; — if thy soul accompanieth him in his triumph over the 
grave, and entereth on the wings of faith into that heaven 
" where he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on 
High," and seeth the "society of angels and of the spirits of 



SPECIMENS OF PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 209 

just men made perfect," and listeneth to the " everlasting song 
which is sung before the throne :" — If such are the meditations 
in which thy youthful hours are passed, renounce not, for all 
that life can offer thee in exchange, these solitary joys. The 
world which is before thee, — the world which thine imagina- 
tion paints in such brightness, — has no pleasures to bestow 
which can compare with these. And all that its boasted wis- 
dom can produce has nothing so acceptable in the sight of 
Heaven, as this pure offering of thy infant soul. 

In these days, " the Lord himself is thy shepherd, and thou 
dost not want. Amid the green pastures, and by the still 
waters" of youth, he now makes "thy soul to repose." But 
the years draw nigh, when life shall call thee to its trials ; the 
evil days are on the wing, when " thou shalt say thou hast no 
pleasure in them ;" and, as thy steps advance, "the valley of 
the shadow of death opens," through which thou must pass at 
last. It is then thou shalt know what it is to " remember thy 
Creator in the clays of thy youth." In these days of trial or 
of awe, " his spirit shall be with thee," and thou shalt fear no 
ill ; and, amid every evil which surrounds thee, " he shall re- 
store thy soul. — His goodness and mercy shall follow thee all 
the days of thy life;" and when at last "the silver cord is 
loosed, thy spirit shall return to the God who gave it, and 
thou shalt dwell in the house of the Lord for ever." 

Alison. 



14. ON AUTUMN. 

Let the young go out, in these hours, under the descending 
sun of the year, into the fields of nature. Then- hearts are 
now ardent with hope, — with the hope of fame, of honour, 
or of happiness ; and in the long perspective which is before 
them, their imagination creates a world where all may be en- 
joyed. Let the scenes which they now may witness moderate, 
but not extinguish their ambition : — while they see the yearly 
desolation of nature, let them see it as the emblem of mortal 
hope : — while they feel the disproportion between the powers 



210 SPECIMENS OF PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 

they possess and the time they are to be employed, let them 
carry their ambitious eye beyond the world : — and while, in 
these sacred solitudes, a voice in their own bosom corresponds 
to the voice of decaying nature, let them take that high decis- 
ion which becomes those who feel themselves the inhabitants 
of a greater world, and who look to being incapable of decay. 

Let the busy and the active go out, and pause for a time 
amid the scenes which surround them, and learn the high 
lesson which nature teaches in the hours of its fall. They 
are now ardent with all the desires of mortality ; — and fame, 
and interest, and pleasure, are displaying to them their shadowy 
promises : — and, in the vulgar race of life, many weak and many 
worthless passions are too naturally engendered. Let them with- 
draw themselves for a time from the agitations of the world ; 
— let them mark the desolation of summer, and listen to the 
winds of winter, which begin to murmur above their heads. 
It is a scene which, with all its power, has yet no reproach ; 
— it tells them, that such is also the fate to which they must 
come ; — that the pulse of passion must one day beat low ; — 
that the illusions of time must pass ; — and " that the spirit 
must return to Him who gave it." It reminds them, with 
gentle voice, of that innocence in which life was begun, and 
for which no prosperity of vice can make any compensation ; 
— and that angel who is one day to stand upon the earth, and 
to "swear that time shall be no more," seems now to whisper 
to them, amid the hollow winds of the year, what manner of 
men they ought to be, who must meet that decisive hour. 

There is an eventide in human life, a season when the eye 
becomes dim, and the strength decays, and when the winter 
of age begins to shed upon the human head its prophetic snow. 
It is the season of life to which the present is most analogous ; 
and much it becomes, and much it would profit you, to mark 
the instructions which the season brings. The spring and the 
summer of your days are gone, and with them, not only the 
joys they knew, but many of the friends who gave them. You 
have entered upon the autumn of your being, and whatever 
may have been the profusion of your spring, or the warm in- 
temperance of your summer, there is yet a season of stillness 



SPECIMENS OF PULPIT ELOQUENCE. 



211 



and of solitude which the beneficence of Heaven affords you, 
in which you may meditate upon the past and the future, and 
prepare yourselves for the mighty change which you are soon 
to undergo. 

If it be thus you have the wisdom to use the decaying season 
of nature, it brings with it consolations more valuable than all 
the enjoyments of former days. In the long retrospect of your 
journey, you have seen every day the shades of the evening 
fail, and every year the clouds of winter gather. But you 
have seen also, every succeeding day, the morning arise in its 
brightness, and in every succeeding year, the spring return to 
renovate the winter of nature. It is now you may understand 
the magnificent language of Heaven, — it mingles its voice with 
that of revelation, — it summons you, in these hours when the 
leaves fall, and the winter is gathering, to that evening study 
which the mercy of Heaven has provided in the book of sal- 
vation; and while the shadowy valley opens which leads to 
the abode of death, it speaks of that hand which can comfort 
and can save, and which can conduct to those " green pastures, 
and those still waters," where there is an eternal spring for 
the children of God. Alison. 



SPECIMENS OF MODEKN ELOQUENCE. 



1. THE BRITISH MONARCHY. 

The learned professors of the rights of man regard prescription 
not as a title to bar all claims set up against old possession, 
but they look on prescription itself as a bar against the pos- 
sessor and proprietor. They hold an immemorial possession 
to be no more than a long continued, and therefore an aggra- 
vated injustice. Such are their ideas, such their religion, and 
such their law. But as to our country and our race, as long 
as the well compacted structure of our church and state, the 
sanctuary, the holy of holies of that ancient law, defended by 
reverence, defended by power, a fortress at once and a temple, 
shall stand inviolate on the brow of the British Sion — as long 
as the British monarchy, not more limited than fenced by the 
orders of the state, shall, like the proud keep of Windsor, rising 
in the majesty of proportion, and girt with the double belt of its 
kindred and coeval towers — as long as this awful structure shall 
oversee and guard the subjected land, so long the mounds and 
dikes of the low Bedford Level will have nothing to fear from 
the pickaxes of levellers. As long as our sovereign lord the 
king, and his faithful subjects, the lords and commons of this 
realm — the triple cord which no man can break ; the solemn 
sworn constitutional frankpledge of this nation, the firm guar- 
antee of each other's being and each other's rights ; the joint 
and several securities, each in its place and order, for every 
kind and every quality of property and of dignity — so long as 
these endure, so long the Duke of Bedford is safe, and we are 
all safe together — the high from the blights of envy and the 
spoliations of rapacity, the low from the iron hand of oppression 
and the insolent spurn of contempt. Burke. 



2. PERORATION TO SHERIDAN S SPEECH IN THE CASE OF 

WARREN HASTINGS. 

Justice, my Lords, is not the ineffective bauble of an Indian 
pagod ; it is not the portentous phantom of despair ; — it is not 



SPECIMENS OF MODERN ELOQUENCE. 213 

like any fabled monster, formed in the eclipse of reason, and 
found in some unhallowed grove of superstitious darkness and 
political dismay : No, my Lords, in the happy reverse of all 
these, I turn from this disgusting caricature to the real image. 
Justice I have now before me, august and pure ; the abstract 
idea of all that would be perfect in the spirits and the aspir- 
ings of men — where the mind rises, where the heart expands 
— where the countenance is ever placid and benign — where 
her favourite attitude is to stoop to the unfortunate — to hear 
their cry and to help them, to rescue and relieve, to succour 
and save ; majestic from its mercy ; venerable for Ls utility ; 
uplifted without pride ; firm without obduracy ; beneficent in 
each preference ; lovely though in her frown ! 

On that justice I rely ; deliberate and sure, abstracted from 
all party purpose, and political speculations — not in words, but 
on facts. You, my Lords, who hear me, I conjure by those 
rights it is your best privilege to preserve ; by that fame it is 
your best pleasure to inherit ; by all those feelings which refer 
to the first term in the series of existence, the original compact 
of our nature — our controlling rank in the creation. This is 
the call on all to administer to truth and equity, as they would 
satisfy the laws and satisfy themselves with the most exalted 
bliss possible or conceivable for our nature — the self-approv- 
ing consciousness of virtue, when the condemnation we look 
for will be one of the most ample mercies accomplished for 
mankind since the creation of the world. My Lords, I have 
done. 



3. EXTRACT FROM MR BURKE's SPEECH ON CONCILIATION 

WITH AMERICA. 

Mr Speaker, — The temper and character which prevail in our 
colonies, are, I am afraid, unalterable by any human art. We 
cannot, I fear, falsify the pedigree of this fierce people, and 
persuade them that they are not sprung from a nation in whose 
veins the blood of freedom circulates. The language in which 
they would hear you tell them this tale would detect the im- 
position ; your speech would betray you. An Englishman is 



214 SPECIMENS OF MODERN ELOQUENCE. 

the most unfit person on earth to argue another Englishman 

into slavery 

My hold of the colonies is in the close affection which grows 
from common names, from kindred blood, from similar privi- 
leges, and equal protection. These are the ties which, though 
light as air, are strong as links of iron. Let the colonies 
always keep the idea of their civil rights associated with your 
government, they will cling and grapple to you, and no force 
under heaven will be of power to tear them from their alle- 
giance. But let it be once understood that your government 
may be one thing and their privileges another ; that these two 
things may exist without any mutual relation, the cement is 
gone, the cohesion is loosened, and every thing hastens to de- 
cay and dissolution. As long as you have the wisdom to keep 
the sovereign authority of this country as the sanctuary of 
liberty, the sacred temple consecrated to our common faith, 
wherever the chosen race and sons of England worship free- 
dom, they will turn their faces towards you. The more they 
multiply, the more friends you will have ; the more ardently 
they love liberty, the more perfect will be their obedience. 
Slavery they can have anywhere. It is a weed that grows in 
every soil. They may have it from Spain, they may have it 
from Prussia ; but until you become lost to all feeling of your 
true interest and your natural dignity, freedom they can have 
from none but you. This is the commodity of price of which 
you have the monopoly. This the true act of navigation which 
binds you to the commerce of the colonies, and through them 
secures to you the commerce of the world. Deny them this 
participation of freedom, and you break that sole bond which 
originally made, and must still preserve, the unity of the em- 
pire. Do not entertain so weak an imagination as that your 
registers and your bonds, your affidavits and your sufferances, 
your coquets and your clearances, are what form the great 
securities of your commerce. Do not dream that your letters 
of office, and your instructions, and your suspending clauses, 
are the things that hold together the great contexture of this 
mysterious whole. These things do not make your govern- 
ment. Dead instruments, passive tools as they are, it is the 



SPECIMENS OF MODERN ELOQUENCE. 



215 



spirit of the English communion that gives all their life and 
efficacy to them. It is the spirit of the English constitution, 
which, infused through the mighty mass, pervades, feeds, unites, 
invigorates, vivifies, every part of the empire, even down to the 
minutest member. 

Is it not the same virtue which does every thing for you 
here in England? Do you imagine then that it is the land- 
tax act which raises your revenue ? that it is the annual vote- 
in the committee of supply which gives you your army? or 
that it is the mutiny bill which inspires it with bravery and 
discipline ? No ! surely not ! It is the love of the people ; 
it is their attachment to their government, from the sense of 
the deep stake they have in such a glorious institution, which 
gives you your army and your navy, and infuses into both that 
liberal obedience without which your army would be a base 
rabble, and your navy nothing but rotten timber. All this, 
I know well enough, will sound wild and chimerical to the 
profane herd of those vulgar and mechanical politicians who 
have no place among us ; a sort of people who think that no- 
thing exists but what is gross and material, and who, therefore, 
far from being qualified to be the directors of the great move- 
ment of empire, are not fit to turn a wheel in the machine. 
But to men truly initiated and rightly taught, these ruling and 
master principles, which, in the opinion of such men as I have 
mentioned, have no substantial existence, are in truth every- 
thing and all in all. Magnanimity in politics is not seldom 
the truest wisdom, and a great empire and little minds go ill 
together. If we are conscious of our situation, and glow with 
zeal to fill our places as becomes our station and ourselves, we 
ought to auspicate all our public proceedings on America with 
the old warning of the church, sursum cor da. We ought to 
elevate our minds to the greatness of that trust to which the 
order of Providence has called us. By adverting to the dig- 
nity of this high calling, our ancestors have turned a savage 
wilderness into a glorious empire ; and have made the most 
extensive, and the only honourable conquests, not by destroy- 
ing, but by promoting the wealth, the number, the happiness 
of the human race. Let us get an American revenue, as we 



216 SPECIMENS OF MODERN ELOQUENCE. 

have got an American empire. English privileges have made 
it all that it is ; English privileges alone will make it all that 
it can be. In full confidence of this unalterable truth, I now 
lay the first stone of the temple of peace. Burke. 



4. LORD LYTTELTON'S SPEECH ON THE REPEAL OF THE ACT 

CALLED THE JEW BILL, A. D. 1753. 

Sir, — It has been hitherto the rare and envied felicity of his 
Majesty's reign, that his subjects have enjoyed such a settled 
tranquillity, such a freedom from angry religious disputes, as is 
not to be paralleled in any former times. The true Christian 
spirit of moderation, of charity, of universal benevolence, has 
prevailed in the people, has prevailed in the clergy of all ranks 
and degrees, instead of those narrow principles, those bigoted 
pleasures, that furious, that implacable, that ignorant zeal, 
which had often done so much hurt both to the church and 
the state. But from the ill understood, insignificant act of 
parliament you are now moved to repeal, occasion has been 
taken to deprive us of this inestimable advantage. It is a pre- 
tence to disturb the peace of the church, to infuse idle fear 
into the minds of the people, and make religion itself an engine 
of sedition. It behoves the piety, as well as the wisdom of 
parliament, to disappoint those endeavours. Sir, the very worst 
mischief that can be done to religion, is to pervert it to the pur- 
poses of faction. The most impious wars ever made were those 
called holy wars. He who hates another man for not being a 
Christian, is himself not a Christian. Christianity, Sir, breathes 
love, and peace, and good- will to man. A temper conformable 
to the dictates of that holy religion has lately distinguished this 
nation ; and a glorious distinction it was ! But there is latent, 
at all times, in the minds of the vulgar, a spark of enthusiasm ; 
which, if blown by the breath of a party, may, even when it 
seems quite extinguished, be suddenly revived and raised to a 
flame. The act of last session for naturalizing Jews has very 
unexpectedly administered fuel to feed that flame. To what 
a height it may rise, if it should continue much longer, one 



SPECIMENS OF MODERN ELOQUENCE. 217 

cannot easily tell ; but, take away the fuel, and it will die of 
itself. 

Sir, I trust and believe that, by speedily passing this bill, 
we shall silence that obloquy which has so unjustly been cast 
upon our reverend prelates (some of the most respectable that 
ever adorned our church) for the part they took in the act 
which this repeals. And it greatly concerns the whole com- 
munity, that they should not lose that respect which is so justly 
due to them, by a popular clamour kept up in opposition to a 
measure of no importance in itself. But if the departing from 
that measure should not remove the prejudice so maliciously 
raised, I am certain that no further step you can take will be 
able to remove it ; and, therefore, I hope you will stop here. 
This appears to be a reasonable and safe condescension, by 
which nobody will be hurt ; but all beyond this would be dan- 
gerous weakness in government ; it might open a door to the 
wildest enthusiasm, and to the most mischievous attacks of 
political disaffection working upon that enthusiasm. If you 
encourage and authorize it to fall on the synagogue, it will go 
from thence to the meeting-house, and in the end to the palace. 
But let us be careful to check its further progress. The more 
zealous we are to support Christianity, the more vigilant should 
we be in maintaining toleration. If we bring back persecu- 
tion, we bring back the antichristian spirit of popery ; and 
when the spirit is here, the whole system will soon follow. 
Toleration is the basis of all public quiet. It is a charter of 
freedom given to the mind, more valuable, I think, than that 
which secures our persons and estates. Indeed, they are in- 
separably connected together ; for, where the mind is not free, 
where the conscience is enthralled, there is no freedom. Spir- 
itual tyranny puts on the galling chains ; but civil tyranny is 
called in to rivet and fix them. We see it in Spain, and many 
other countries; we have formerly both seen and felt it in 
England. By the blessing of God, we are now delivered from 
all kinds of oppression. Let us take care that they may never 
return. 



218 SPECIMENS OF MODERN ELOQUENCE. 



0. ARBITRARY POWER NOT GIVEN TO MAN. 

Mr Hastings has declared his opinion that he is a despotic 
prince ; that he is to use arbitrary power, and that of course 
all his acts are covered with that shield. " I know," says he, 
"the constitution of Asia only from its practice." Will your 
Lordships submit to hear the corrupt practices of mankind made 
the principles of government ? No ; it will be your pride and 
glory to teach men intrusted with power, that, in their use of 
it, they are to conform to principles, and not to draw their 
principles from the corrupt practice of any man whatever. Was 
there ever heard, or could it be conceived, that a governor would 
dare to heap up all the evil practices, all the cruelties, oppres- 
sions, extortions, corruptions, briberies, of all the ferocious usur- 
pers, desperate robbers, thieves, cheats, and jugglers, that ever 
had office from one end of Asia to another, and, consolidating 
all this mass of the crimes and absurdities of barbarous domina- 
tion into one code, establish it as the whole duty of an English 
governor ? I believe that, till this time, so audacious a thing 
was never attempted by man. He have arbitrary power ! My 
Lords ! the East India Company have not arbitrary power to 
give him — the King has no arbitrary power to give him ; your 
Lordships have it not, nor the Commons, nor the whole legisla- 
ture. We have no arbitrary power to give, because arbitrary 
power is a thing which neither any man can hold nor any man 
can give. No man can lawfully govern himself according to 
his own will, much less can one person be governed by the 
will of another. We are all bom in subjection, all born equally, 
high and low, governors and governed, in subjection to one 
great immutable pre-existent law, prior to all our devices, and 
prior to all our contrivances, paramount to all our ideas, and 
all our sensations, antecedent to our very existence, by which 
we are knit and connected in the eternal frame of the universe, 
and out of which we cannot stir. Burke. 



SPECIMENS OF MODERN ELOQUENCE. 219 



6. EXTRACT FROM HENRY BROUGHAM^ SPEECH AT THE 

LIVERPOOL ELECTION, 1812. 

Gentlemen, — I feel it necessary after the fatigues of this long- 
arid anxious day to entreat, as I did on a former occasion, that 
you would have the goodness to favour me with as silent a 
heaiing as possible, that I may not by over- exertion in my 
present exhausted state destroy that voice, which I hope I may 
preserve to raise in your defence once more hereafter. For 
this great town, for the country at large, whose cause we are 
upholding — whose fight we are fighting, for the whole manu- 
facturing and trading interest — for all who love peace — all 
who have no profit in war, — I feel the deepest alarm lest our 
grand attempt may not prosper. All these feelings are in my 
heart at this moment — they are various — they are conflicting 
— they are painful — they are burthensome, but they are not 
overwhelming ! and amongst them all, and I have swept round 
the whole range of which the human mind is susceptible, there 
is not one that bears the slightest resemblance to despair. I trust 
myself once more in your faithful hands — I fling myself again on 
you for protection — I call aloud to you to bear your own cause 
in your hearts — I implore of you to come forward in your own 
defence — for the sake of this vast town and its people — for the 
salvation of the middle and lower orders — for the whole indus- 
trious part of the whole country — I entreat you by your love 
of peace — by your hatred of oppression — by your weariness of 
burthensome and useless taxation — by yet another appeal to 
which those must lend an ear who have been deaf to all the 
rest — I ask it for your families — for your infants — if you would 
avoid such a winter of horrors as the last ! It is coming fast 
upon you — already it is near at hand — yet a few short weeks 
and we may be in the midst of those unspeakable miseries, the 
recollection of which now rends your very souls. If there be 
one freeman amongst this immense multitude, who has not 
tendered his voice — and if he can be deaf to this appeal — if 
he can suffer the threats of our antagonists to frighten him 
away from the recollections of the last dismal winter — that 



220 SPECIMENS OF MODERN ELOQUENCE. 

man will not vote for me. But if I have the happiness of 
addressing one honest man amongst you, who has a care left 
for his wife and children, or for other endearing ties of domes- 
tic tenderness, that man will lay his hand on his heart when 
I now hid him do so, — and, with those little threats of present 
spite ringing in his ears, he will rather consult his fears of 
greater evil, by listening to the dictates of his heart, when he 
casts a look towards the dreadfal season through which he 
lately passed — and will come bravely forward to place those 
men in parliament, whose whole efforts have been directed 
towards the restoration of peace and the revival of trade. 

Do not, Gentlemen, listen to those who tell you the cause 
of freedom is desperate ; — they are the enemies of that cause 
and of you — but listen to me, for you know me — and I am 
one who has never yet deceived you ; — I say then that it will 
he desperate if you make no exertions to retrieve it. I tell 
you that your languor alone can betray it — that it can be made 
desperate only through your despair. I am not a man to be 
cast down by temporary reverses, let them come upon me as 
thick and as swift and as sudden as they may. I am not he 
who is daunted by majorities in the outset of a struggle for 
worthy objects — else I should not now stand before you to 
boast of triumphs won in your cause. If your champions had 
yielded to the force of numbers, of gold, of power — -if defeat 
could have dismayed them — then would the African Slave 
Trade never have been abolished — then would the cause of 
Eeform, which now bids fair to prevail over its enemies, have 
been long ago sunk amidst the desertions of its friends — then 
would those prospects of peace have been utterly benighted, 
which I still devoutly cherish, and which even now brighten 
in our eyes — then would the Orders in Council, which I over- 
threw by your support, have remained a disgrace to the British 
name, and an eternal obstacle to our best interests. I no more 
despond now than I have done in the course of sacred and 
glorious contentions ; but it is for you to say whether to-mor- 
row shall not make it my duty to despair. To-morrow is your 
last day — your last efforts must then be made — if you put forth 
your strength, the day is your own — if you desert me, it is 



SPECIMENS OF MODERN ELOQUENCE. 221 

lost. To win it, I shall be the first to lead you on, and the 
last to forsake you. 



7. THE TRUE POLICY OF GREAT BRITAIN. 

Gentlemen, — The end which I have always had in view as 
the legitimate object of pursuit to a British statesman I can 
describe in one word. The language of the philosopher is 
diffusely benevolent. It professes the amelioration of the lot 
of all mankind. I hope that my heart beats as high towards 
other nations of the earth as that of any one who vaunts his 
philanthropy ; but I am contented to confess that the main 
object of my contemplation is the interest of England. Not 
that the interest of England can stand isolated and alone. 
The situation she holds forbids an exclusive selfishness ; her 
prosperity must contribute to the prosperity of other nations, 
her stability to the safety of the world. But it does not follow 
that we are called upon to mix ourselves on every occasion 
with a meddling activity in the concerns of the nations around 
us. There are men, actuated by noble principles and generous 
feelings, who would rush forward at once, from the sense of 
indignation at aggression, and deem that no act of injustice 
should be perpetrated from one end of the universe to the other, 
but that the sword of Great Britain ought to leap from its 
scabbard to avenge it. But, as it is the province of law to 
control the excess even of laudable feelings in individuals, so 
it is the duty of government to restrain within due bounds the 
ebullition of national impulses which it cannot blame. But 
while we thus control our feelings by our duty, let it not be 
said that we cultivate peace because we fear, or because we 
ate unprepared for war ; on the contrary, if eight months ago 
the government proclaimed this country to be prepared for 
war, every month of peace that hath since passed has but 
made us so much the more capable of exertion. The resources 
created by peace are the means of war. In cherishing those 
resources, we accumulate our means. Our present repose is 
no more a proof of inability, than the state of inactivity in 
which I see those mighty ships float in these waters, is a proof 



222 SPECIMENS OF MODERN ELOQUENCE. 

that they are devoid of strength, and incapable of being fitted 
out for action. You well know how soon one of these stupendous 
masses, now reposing on their shadows in perfect stillness, how 
soon, upon any call of patriotism, it would assume the likeness 
of an animated thing, instinct with life and motion — how soon 
it would ruffle up its swelling plumage — how quickly it would 
put forth all its beauty and its bravery, collect its scattered 
elements of strength, and awaken its dormant thunder. Such 
as is one of those magnificent machines springing from inaction 
into a display of its might — such is England herself — while 
apparently passive, she silently concentrates the power to be 
put forth on an adequate occasion. But Heaven forbid that that 
occasion should arise ! After a war of a quarter of a century, 
sometimes single-handed, England now needs a period of tran- 
quillity. Long may we be enabled to improve the blessings of 
our present situation, to cultivate the arts of peace, to give to 
commerce greater extension and new spheres of employment, 
and to confirm the prosperity now diffused throughout this 
island ! Canning. 



8. SPEECH OF LORD CHATHAM, IN THE HOUSE OF PEERS, AGAINST 

THE AMERICAN WAR, AND AGAINST EMPLOYING THE INDIANS 
IN IT. 

I cannot, my Lords, I will not, join in congratulation on 
misfortune and disgrace. This, my Lords, is a perilous and 
tremendous moment. It is not a time for adulation : the smooth- 
ness of flattery cannot save us in this rugged and awful crisis. 
It is now necessary to instruct the throne in the language of 
truth. We must, ? if possible, dispel the delusion and darkness 
which envelop it ; and display, in its full danger and genuine 
colours, the ruin which is brought to our doors. Can ministers 
still presume to expect support in their infatuation? Can 
parliament be so dead to its dignity and duty, as to give 
its support to measures thus obtruded and forced upon it? 
Measures, my Lords, which have reduced this late flourishing 
empire to scorn. and contempt ! " But yesterday, and Britain 
might have stood against the world ; now, none so poor as to 



SPECIMENS OF MODERN ELOQUENCE. 223 

do her reverence : " — The people, whom we at first despised as 
rebels, but whom we now acknowledge as enemies, are abetted 
against us, supplied with every military store, have their in- 
terest consulted, and their ambassadors entertained by our in- 
veterate enemy — and ministers do not, and dare not, interpose 
with dignity or effect. The desperate state of our army abroad 
is in part known. No man more highly esteems and honours 
the British troops than I do ; I know their virtues and their 
valour ; I know they can achieve anything but impossibilities ; 
and I know that the conquest of British America is an impos- 
sibility. You cannot, my Lords, you cannot conquer America. 
What is your present situation there ? We do not know the 
worst ; but we know that in three campaigns we have done 
nothing, and suffered much. You may swell every expense, 
accumulate every assistance, and extend your traffic to the 
shambles of every German despot : your attempts will be for 
ever vain and impotent — doubly so, indeed, from this mercenary 
aid on which you rely ; for it irritates, to an incurable resent- 
ment, the minds of your adversaries, to overrun them with the 
mercenary sons of rapine and plunder, devoting them and their 
possessions to the rapacity of hireling cruelty. If I were an 
American, as I am an Englishman, while a foreign troop was 

landed in my country, I never would lay down my arms ; 

Never, never, never! — 

But, my Lords, who is the man, that, in addition to the dis- 
graces and mischiefs of the war, has dared to authorize and 
associate to our arms the tomahawk and scalping -knife of the 
savage ? — to call into civilized alliance the wild and inhuman 
inhabitant of the woods ? — to delegate to the merciless Indian 
the defence of disputed rights, and to wage the horrors of his 
barbarous war against our brethren ? My Lords, these enor- 
mities cry aloud for redress and punishment. But, my Lords, 
this barbarous measure has been defended, not only on the 
principles of policy and necessity, but also on those of morality; 
" for it is perfectly allowable," says Lord Suffolk, "to use all 
the means which God and nature have put into our hands." I 
am astonished, I am shocked, to hear such principles confessed ; 
to hear them avowed in this House, or in this country. My 



224 SPECIMENS OF MODERN ELOQUENCE. 

Lords, I did not intend to encroach so much on your attention, 
but I cannot repress my indignation — I feel myself impelled 
to speak. My Lords, we are called upon as members of this 
House, as men, as Christians, to protest against such horrible 
barbarity ! — " That God and nature have put into our hands I" 
What ideas of God and nature that noble Lord may entertain 
I know not ; but I know, that such detestable principles are 
equally abhorrent to religion and humanity. What! to at- 
tribute the sacred sanction of God and nature to the massacres 
of the Indian scalping-knife ! to the cannibal savage, tortur- 
ing, murdering, devouring, drinking the blood of his mangled 
victims ! Such notions shock every precept of morality, every 
feeling of humanity, every sentiment of honour. These abom- 
inable principles, and this more abominable avowal of them, 
demand the most decisive indignation. 

I call upon that Eight Eeverend, and this most Learned 
Bench, to vindicate the religion of their God, to support the 
justice of their country. I call upon the Bishops, to interpose 
the unsullied sanctity of their lawn ; — upon the judges, to in- 
terpose the purity of their ermine, to save us from this pollution. 
I call upon the honour of your Lordships, to reverence the 
dignity of your ancestors, and to maintain your own. I call 
upon the spirit and humanity of my country, to vindicate the 
national character. I invoke the Genius of the Constitution. 
From the tapestry that adorns these walls, the immortal ances- 
tor of this noble Lord frowns with indignation at the disgrace 
of his country. In vain did he defend the liberty, and estab- 
lish the religion of Britain, against the tyranny of Kome, if 
these worse than Popish cruelties, and Inquisitorial practices, 
are endured among us. To send forth the merciless cannibal, 
thirsting for blood ! against whom ? — your Protestant brethren ! 
— to lay waste their country, to desolate their dwellings, and 
extirpate their race and name by the aid and instrumentality 
of these horrible hounds of war 1 Spain can no longer boast 
pre-eminence in barbarity. She armed herself with blood- 
hounds, to extirpate the wretched natives of Mexico ; we, more 
ruthless, loose these dogs of war against our countrymen in 
America, endeared to us by every tie that can sanctify hu- 



SPECIMENS OF MODERN ELOQUENCE. 225 

inanity. I solemnly call upon your Lordships, and upon every 
order of men in the state, to stamp upon this infamous proced- 
ure the indelible stigma of the Public Abhorrence. More 
particularly, I call upon the holy prelates of our religion to do 
away this iniquity; let them perform a lustration, to purify 
the country from this deep and deadly sin. My Lords, I am 
old and weak, and at present unable to say more ; but my feel- 
ings and indignation were too strong to have said less. I could 
not have slept this night in my bed, nor even reposed my head 
upon my pillow, without giving vent to my eternal abhorrence 
of such enormous and preposterous principles. 



9. — EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH OF MR CANNING- ON 
PARLIAMENTARY REFORM. 

Other nations, excited by the example of the liberty which 
this country has long possessed, have attempted to copy onr 
constitution; and some of them have shot beyond it in the 
fierceness of their pursuit. I grudge not to other nations that 
share of liberty which they may acquire ; in the name of 
Heaven let them enjoy it. But let us warn them that they 
lose not the object of their desire by the very eagerness with 
which they attempt to grasp it. Inheritors and conservators 
of rational freedom, let us, while others are seeking it in rest- 
lessness and trouble, be a steady and a shining light to guide 
their course, not a wandering meteor to bewilder and mislead 
them. 

Let it not be thought that this is an unfriendly or disheart- 
ening counsel to those who are either struggling under the 
pressure of harsh government, or exulting in the novelty of 
sudden emancipation. It is addressed much rather to those 
who, though cradled and educated amidst the sober blessings 
of the British constitution, pant for other schemes of liberty 
than those which that constitution sanctions — other than are 
compatible with a just equality of civil rights, or with the nec- 
essary restraints of social obligation ; of some of whom it may 

k2 



226 SPECIMENS OF MODERN ELOQUENCE. 

be said, in the language which Dryden puts into the mouth of 
one of the most extravagant of his heroes, that 

" They would be free as nature first made man. 
Ere the base laws of servitude began, 
"When wild in woods the noble savage ran." 

Noble and swelling sentiments ! but such as cannot be reduced 
into practice. Grand ideas ! but which must be qualified and 
adjusted by a compromise between the aspirings of individuals 
and a due concern for the general tranquillity, must be sub- 
dued and chastened by reason and experience, before they can 
be directed to any useful end. A search after abstract per- 
fection in government may produce, in generous minds, an 
enterprise and enthusiasm to be recorded by the historian and 
to be celebrated by the poet, but such perfection is not an ob- 
ject of reasonable pursuit, because it is not an object of possible 
attainment ; and never yet did a passionate struggle after an 
absolutely unattainable object fail to be productive of misery to 
an individual, of madness and confusion to a people. As the in- 
habitants of those burning climates, which lie beneath a tropical 
sun, sigh for the coolness of the mountain and the grove ; so 
(all history instructs us) do nations which have basked for a 
time in the torrent blaze of an unmitigated liberty, too often 
call upon the shades of despotism, even of military despotism, 
to cover them — 

" quis me gelidis in vallibus Hsemi 

Sistat et urgenti ramorum protegat umbra" — 

a protection which blights while it shelters; which dwarfs the 
intellect, and stunts the energies of man, but to which a wearied 
nation willingly resorts from intolerable heats, and from per- 
petual danger of convulsion. 

Our lot is happily cast in the temperate zone of freedom : 
the climate best suited to the development of the moral quali- 
ties of the human race ; to the cultivation of their faculties, 
and to the security as well as the improvement of their virtues 
— a clime not exempt indeed from the variations of the ele- 
ments, but variations which purify while they agitate the 



SPECIMENS OF MODERN ELOQUENCE. 227 

atmosphere that we "breathe. Let us be sensible of the advan- 
tages which it is our happiness to enjoy. Let us guard with 
pious gratitude the flame of genuine liberty, that fire from 
heaven, of which our constitution is the holy depository ; but 
let us not, for the chance of rendering it more intense and more 
radiant, impair its purity, or hazard its extinction. 



10. PERORATION OF MR GRATTAN's SPEECH ON THE OPENING 

OF THE IRISH PARLIAMENT, 1790. 

Sir, — The evils which have taken place lead me to consider 
the resistance to the bills that would have prevented them — 
a pension bill and a place bill. The former was resisted the 
last session, because, as they on the part of government said, 
it was unnecessary ; at that time they made it indispensable, 
held it up in traffic, had it at market, a resort against popular 
and constitutional measures, the prince, the nobles, and the 
people. 

They resisted the place bill under similar circumstances. 
At the time of their resistance they were dividing boards, 
splitting sinecures, and multiplying offices; at one and the 
same time resisting the bill by their influence, and making it 
necessary by their transgressions. It was not an error in judg- 
ment, nor a knotty doubt on a puzzled point of speculation : 
no ; it was a perfect conviction on the part of the ministers of 
the utility of such a measure, and a decided determination to 
commit the corruptions those bills would guard against ; they 
were resisted by his Majesty's minister with malice' prepense 
against the community. My friend, who failed, urged these 
bills with the arguments of a provident senator; but the 
minister is a thunderbolt in their favour. He is that public 
malefactor, who calls out for penal laws by the authority of the 
crimes in which he participates : " The evils against which 
you hesitate to provide, I am committing. I am creating places 
and multiplying pensions ; and I am so doing for the reasons 
you doubt, corruption!" These are not his words; no; but 
they are the words of his offences. 



228 SPECIMENS OF MODERN ELOQUENCE. 

But there are some penal measures wliicli defy explanation. 
Why deprive the pensioner who got his pension with the 
approbation of government as compensation for office extin- 
guished ? Is compensation to be considered as a bribe for a 
vote? Why deprive the pensioner who got his pension to 
support hereditary honours ? Is the prop of honour to be con- 
sidered as a bribe ? Why deprive the pensioner who got his 
pension on the address of one of the Houses of Parliament ? Is 
that to be considered as a bribe ? Are the nobility of this 
country to be subject to a letter missive, or a message from a 
clerk or runner, desiring that they will attend in their place, 
and vote to blemish their blood and save their pension ? Such 
has been the conduct of your Keformer. This was the man ; 
you remember his entry into the capital, trampling on the 
hearse of the Duke of Kutland, and seated in a triumphal car, 
drawn by public credulity ; on the one hand fallacious hope, 
and on the other many-mouthed profession ; a figure with two 
faces, one turned to the treasury, and the other presented to 
the people ; and with a double tongue, speaking contradictory 
languages. This minister alights; justice looks up to him 
with empty hopes, and peculation faints with idle alarms : he 
finds the city a prey to an unconstitutional police — he continues 
it ; he finds the country overburthened with a shameful pen- 
sion list — he increases it; he finds the House of Commons 
swarming with placemen — he multiplies them; he finds the 
salary of the secretary increased to prevent a pension — he 
grants a pension ; he finds the kingdom drained by absentee- 
employments, and by compensations to buy them home — he 
gives the' best reversion in the country to an absentee — his 
brother! He finds the government, at different times, had 
disgraced itself by creating sinecures, to gratify corrupt affec- 
tion — he makes two commissioners of the rolls, and gives one 
of them to another brother : he finds the second council to the 
commissioners put down, because useless — he revives it: he 
finds the boards of accounts and stamps annexed by public com- 
pact — he divides them : he finds three resolutions, declaring 
that seven commissioners are sufficient — he makes nine : he 
finds the country has suffered by some peculations in the ord- 



SPECIMENS OF MODERN ELOQUENCE. 229 

nance — be increases the salary of officers, and gives the places 
to members — members of parliament ! 

What will yon say now, when the viceroy shakes hands with 
the populace, and enfeoffs himself to the lowest popularity? 
He should not proceed on the principles of Punic faith or of 
Parthian flight. To retain the affections of the public on nega- 
tive terms is difficult j but to attach them by injuries, to annex 
the delusion of the public to his person, and the plunder of the 
country to his family, is a monster in the history of ambition ! 

What shall we say to the public peculator ? for he will tri- 
umph, and he will calculate, and he will set up the innocence 
of little peculations against the crimes of affected, and teazing, 
and little regulation. 

What shall we say to the people ? They looked for relief, 
because they were oppressed ; and looked to Lord Buckingham 
for relief, because they were deceived ; it is to relieve them 
that I wish to direct the attention of this session. 

Sir, the prodigality of honours, places, and pensions, by the 
present ministers of the crown, was held to be so criminal, as 
to render the ordinary provisions in Great Britain insufficient, 
and extraordinary and unconstitutional restrictions admissible 
to disparage the second personage in these dominions ; some 
of those ministers having committed in Ireland, in this par- 
ticular, excesses far beyond those which falsehood presumed to 
prophesy ; what measure of restraint shall they find ? Show 
them a justice which they refused to the son of their prince, 
and resort only to constitutional provisions, such as may abolish 
these grievances, and guard the country against the danger of 
a repetition. 



11. PERORATION TO MR ERSKINE's SPEECH ON THE 

AGE OF REASON. 

Gentlemen, — I have no objection to the most extended and 
free discussion upon doctrinal points of the Christian religion ; 
and, though the law of England does not permit it, I do not 
dread the reasonings of Deists against the existence of Chris- 
tianity itself, because, as it was said by its Divine author, if 



230 SPECIMENS OF MODERN ELOQUENCE. 

it be of God, it will stand. An intellectual book, however 
erroneous, addressed to the intellectual world upon so profound 
and complicated a subject, can never work the mischief it is 
calculated to repress. Such works will only incite the minds 
of men, enlightened by study, to a closer investigation of a 
subject well worthy of their deepest and continued contem- 
plation. The powers of the mind are given for human im- 
provement in the progress of human existence. The changes 
produced by such reciprocations of lights and intelligeuces are 
certain in their progression, and make their way imperceptibly 
by the final and irresistible power of truth. If Christianity 
be founded in falsehood, let us become Deists in this manner, 
and I am contented. But this book has no such object and 
no such capacity ; — it presents no arguments to the wise and 
enlightened ; on the contrary, it treats the faith and opinions 
of the wisest with the most shocking contempt, and stirs up 
men, without the advantages of learning or sober thinking, to 
a total disbelief of every thing hitherto held sacred ; and con- 
sequently to a rejection of all the laws and ordinances of the 
state, which stand only upon the assumption of their truth. 

Gentlemen, I cannot conclude without expressing the deep- 
est regret at all attacks upon the Christian religion by authors 
who profess to promote the civil liberties of the world. For 
under what other auspices than Christianity have the lost and 
subverted liberties of mankind in former ages been re-asserted ? 
By what zeal, but the warm zeal of devout Christians, have 
English liberties been redeemed and consecrated ? Under what 
other sanctions, even in our own days, have liberty and hap- 
piness been spreading to the uttermost corners of the earth ? 
What work of civilisation, what commonwealth of greatness, 
has this bald religion of nature ever established ? We see, on 
the contrary, those nations that have no other light than that 
of nature to direct them, sunk in barbarism, or slaves to arbi- 
trary governments; whilst under the Christian dispensation 
the great career of the world has been slowly but clearly ad- 
vancing, lighter at every step, from the encouraging prophe- 
cies of the Gospel, and leading, I trust, in the end, to universal 
and eternal happiness. Each generation of mankind can see 



SPECIMENS OF MODERN ELOQUENCE. 231 

but a few revolving links of this mighty and mysterious chain ; 
but by doing our several duties in our allotted stations, we are 
sure that we are fulfilling the purposes of our existence. Yon, 
I trust, will fulfil yours this day. 



12. EXTRACT FROM CHARLES FOx's CHARGE AGAINST 

WARREN HASTINGS. 

The whole government of India rests upon responsibility. This 
is the grand object to which our attention should be directed. 
And, let me ask, how is it to be effected ? If, in every instance 
and at every point of time, you have not the means of enforcing 
this principle, it is not possible that the government of this 
country can be preserved in its purity in the East. You have 
no other hold of the people whom you send out to that part of 
the world, but by placing them in such a situation, that every 
thing they do is to be canvassed and inquired into, and if crim- 
inal punished with severity. If you lose sight of this for a 
moment your power of that country is gone. If a bad act is 
committed, what can you do ? You threaten, and you recall, 
you appoint committees, and prepare all the apparatus of pun- 
ishment. This consumes time ; and with regard to that part 
of the world, thirteen months are thirteen years. Before this 
man can be recalled, something may happen which will be a 
set-off, and the whole may at once vanish away. The inquiry 
will be silenced, and affairs go on in the same wretched train 
in which they hitherto have been conducted. 

I would have strict, literal, and absolute obedience to orders, 
in all those whom I intrusted with the administration of gov- 
ernment in that country ; that we might know the ground upon 
which we were treading, and be able to form some judgment of 
the real state of our affairs in that part of our possessions. This 
House has already passed certain resolutions, and has pledged 
itself to see them put in execution; an opportunity is now 
presented, the matter is now at issue, and, if it is suffered to 
fall to the ground without a spirited and firm examination, all 
inquiry may sleep for ever, and every idea of punishment be 
buried in oblivion. 



SPECIMENS OF ANCIENT ELOQUENCE. 



1. THE VALUE OF LITERATURE. 

But whence, you ask, the extraordinary interest I take in this 
man ? Because to him I am indebted for that which recreates 
my spirits after the clamorous contentions of the Forum, and 
soothes my senses when stunned with the jarring discords of 
debate. Would it be possible, do you suppose, to meet the 
daily demand on our intellectual resources, arising- from the 
infinite variety of causes in which we are engaged, unless our 
minds were enriched with the stores of learning, or could they 
sustain this long-continued tension of their powers without 
some indulgence in literary relaxation? For me, I glory in 
my devotion to these studies ; be theirs the shame, who are 
so absorbed in profitless speculations, that they have never 
turned them to any purpose of public utility, or given to the 
world any visible result of their labours. But why should I 
blush at this avowal, whose time for a series of years has been 
so completely engrossed by my profession, that neither the 
seductions of ease, nor the solicitations of pleasure, nor even 
the demand for necessary repose, have for a moment withdrawn 
me from the service of my friends. Who then' can censure 
me, or take reasonable umbrage at my conduct, if I dedicate 
to the revisal of my early studies only that portion of my time 
which is left to the unquestioned disposal of others — which by 
some is devoted to their private affairs, to the sports and spec- 
tacles of our festivals, to other amusements, or to mere repose 
of mind or body ; that time, which others again expend in 
manly exercise, or waste in gaming and intemperance ? And 
my claim to such indulgence is the more reasonable, as I thereby 
enhance the reputation of my professional ability, which, as far 
as it extends, has never yet been wanting to the exigencies of 
my friends — a trifling talent this perhaps in the estimation of 
many; but there are other things, and those avowedly the 
loftiest, and well do I know the hallowed fount from which 



SPECIMENS OF ANCIENT ELOQUENCE. 233 

they are derived. For had I not, by deeply pondering the 
precepts of philosophy, and the lessons of the historian and the 
poet, imbued my mind with an early and intimate conviction, 
that nothing in life is worthy of strenuous pursuit but honour 
and renown, and for the attainment of these, the extremes of 
bodily torture, and all the terrors of exile and of death, ought 
to be regarded as trifles, never should I have engaged in such 
a series of deadly conflicts for your safety, nor have exposed 
myself to these daily machinations of the most profligate of 
mankind. But the literature, the wisdom, the consentaneous 
voice of antiquity, all teem with glorious examples — examples, 
which would have been for ever buried in oblivion, but for the 
redeeming light of letters. How many instances of heroic 
daring and devotedness are pictured on the Greek and Eoman 
page, not for our study only, but also for our imitation ! With 
these illustrious models incessantly before my eyes, I have la- 
boured to form my mind and character, by intense meditation 
on their excellence. 

From Cicero's Oration for the Poet Archias. 



2. THE ROMAN PEOPLE ADJURED BY THE EXAMPLE OF THEIR 

ANCESTORS TO AVENGE THE OUTRAGES COMMITTED BY MITH- 
RIDATES. 

The slightest insult to a merchant or the captain of the small- 
est naval craft was enough to rouse your ancestors to war, what 
then ought to be your indignation at the simultaneous butchery 
of so many thousand Eoman citizens at the bidding of this ty- 
rant. Corinth, the brightest luminary of Greece, was threat- 
ened with extinction merely for having given a somewhat haughty 
reception to your ambassadors ; and will you allow impunity 
to a despot who has dared to subject to the chain and to the 
scourge, and at last to a death of excruciating torture, a con- 
sular ambassador of the Eoman people ? Your ancestors would 
not brook the slightest infringement of the liberty of a Eoman 
citizen, and will you not avenge his blood ? A merely verbal 
insult to the sacred character of an ambassador invoked their 



234 SPECIMENS OF ANCIENT ELOQUENCE. 

vengeance, and shall the torture and death of an ambassador 
himself appeal in vain to yours ? Beware, Eomans, lest, as it 
was most honourable in your ancestors to bequeath to you so 
magnificent a monument of national glory, beware lest you 
incur proportionate disgrace in failing to guard and preserve 
the inviolability of this glorious bequest. 

Cicero's Oration for the Manilian Law. 



And now what language can do justice to the military prowess 
of Cneius Pompey ! What form of panegyric can be devised 
worthy of him, unknown to you, or not familiar to the universe ! 
For the qualifications of a commander are not confined within 
the narrow circle to which popular opinion restricts them — 
assiduity in business, intrepidity in danger, vigour in action, 
promptitude to achieve, and wisdom to provide ; all which 
unite in this one man, and in a degree not to be found in all 
other commanders ever seen or heard of. Attest it Italy, the 
liberation of which the victorious Sylla himself attributed to 
his valour and assistance — attest it Sicily, rescued from the 
many dangers which encompassed it, not by the terror of his 
arms, but by the promptitude of his councils — attest it Africa, 
saturated with the blood of the countless hordes with which 
it was oppressed — attest it Gaul, over the bodies of whose 
slaughtered sons our legions entered Spain — attest it Spain 
herself, which has so often seen the overwhelming forces of 
his enemies subdued and prostrated by his victorious arm — 
again and again attest it Italy, which, when oppressed by the 
foul and devastating servile war, with outstretched arms en- 
treated his return ; at the mere rumour of his approach that 
war pined and sickened, as his arrival was its deathblow and 
extermination. In short, attest it every land and every dis- 
tant tribe and nation — attest it every wave of the ocean, the 
wide expanse of waters, and every port and bay of its remotest 
shores. 

And to what must we attribute the quickness of his opera- 



SPECIMENS OF ANCIENT ELOQUENCE. 235 

tions, the incredible rapidity of his movements ; for it is by no 
extraordinary propulsive power of the oar, no newly discovered 
art of navigation, nor by any novel agency of the winds of 
heaven that he is borne so rapidly to the remotest shores ; but 
the customary causes of detention which operate with others 
have no influence with him. Avarice does not seduce to rap- 
ine, passion to licentious indulgence, the charms of nature do 
not detain for admiration, the splendid curiosities of art for 
inspection, not even exhaustion itself for necessary repose. 
Statuary, painting, in short all the ornamental arts of Greece, 
the objects of the incontrollable rapacity of others, have not 
power even to arrest his attention. Accordingly wherever he 
appears the inhabitants gaze upon him as on a being suddenly 
dropped from the skies, and not as an agent from the distant 
metropolis of the Eoman empire. Now at length foreign na- 
tions begin to credit the boasted abstinence of our ancestors, 
from which they had hitherto withheld their assent as from a 
fabulous legend of antiquity. Now at length the splendour 
of the Roman name flashes conviction on their minds, and de- 
monstrates the reasonableness of that decision by which their 
ancestors preferred submission to the just and tempered gov- 
ernment of Rome to the uncontrolled command of other nations. 

Cicero on the Manilian Law. 



4. THE BEGINNING OF THE FIRST PHILIPPIC OF DEMOSTHENES. 

Had we been convened, Athenians ! on some new subject of 
debate, I had waited till most of your usual counsellors had 
declared their opinions. If I had approved of what was pro- 
posed by them, I should have continued silent ; if not, I should 
then have attempted to speak my sentiments. But since those 
very points, on which those speakers have oftentimes been 
heard already, are at this time to be considered, though I have 
arisen first, I presume I may expect your pardon ; for, if they 
on former occasions had advised the proper measures, you 
would not have found it needful to consult at present. 

First then, Athenians ! however wretched the situation of 



236 SPECIMENS OF ANCIENT ELOQUENCE. 

our affairs at present seems, it must not by any means be 
thought desperate. What I am now going to advance may 
possibly appear a paradox ; yet it is a certain truth, that our 
past misfortunes afford a circumstance most favourable to our 
future hopes. And what is that ? even that our present diffi- 
culties are owing entirely to our total indolence and utter dis- 
regard of our own interest. For were we thus situated, in 
spite of every effort which our duty demanded, then indeed we 
might regard our fortunes as absolutely desperate. But now, 
Philip hath only conquered your supineness and inactivity; 
the state he hath not conquered. You cannot be said to be 
defeated ; your force hath never been exerted. 

If there is a man in this assembly, who thinks that we must 
find a formidable enemy in Philip, while he views on one hand 
the numerous armies which surround him, and on the other the 
weakness of our state, despoiled of so much of its dominions, 
I cannot deny that he thinks justly. Yet let him reflect on 
this ; there was a time, Athenians ! when we possessed Pydna, 
Potidsea, and Methone, and all that country round ; when 
many of the states now subjected to him were free and inde- 
pendent, and more inclined to our alliance than to his. If 
Philip, at that time weak in himself and without allies, had 
desponded of success against you, he would never have en- 
gaged in those enterprises which are now crowned with suc- 
cess, nor could have raised himself to that pitch of grandeur 
at which you now behold him. But he knew well that the 
strongest places are only prizes laid between the combatants, 
and ready for the conqueror. He knew that the dominions of 
the absent devolve naturally to those who are in the field ; the 
possessions of the supine to the active and intrepid. Animated 
by these sentiments he overturns whole nations. He either 
rules universally as a conqueror, or governs as a protector; 
for mankind naturally seek confederacy with such as they see 
resolved, and preparing not to be wanting to themselves. 

If you, my countrymen, will now at length be persuaded 
to entertain the like sentiments ; if each of you be disposed to 
approve himself a useful citizen, to the utmost that his station 
and abilities enable him ; if the rich will be ready to con- 



SPECIMENS OF ANCIENT ELOQUENCE. 161 

tribute, and the young to take the field ; in one word, if you 
will be yourselves, and banish those hopes which every single 
person entertains, that the active part of public business may 
lie upon others, and he remain at his ease ; you may then, by 
the assistance of the gods, recall those opportunities which 
your supineness hath neglected, regain your dominions, and 
chastise the insolence of this man. 

But when, my countrymen ! will you begin to exert your 
vigour? Do you wait till roused by some dire event? till 
forced by some necessity ? What then are we to think of our 
present condition? To free men, the disgrace attending on 
misconduct is, in my opinion, the most urgent necessity. Or 
say, is it your sole ambition to wander through the public 
places, each inquiring of the other, ' What new advices?' Can 
anything be more new than that a man of Macedon should 
conquer the Athenians, and give law to Greece ? ' Is Philip 
dead ?' ' No — but he is sick.' Pray, what is it to you whether 
Philip is sick or not ? Supposing he should die, you would' 
raise up another Philip, if you continue thus regardless of your 
interest. 

Many, I know, delight more in nothing than in circulating 
all the rumours they hear as articles of intelligence. Some 
cry, Philip hath joined with the Lacedemonians, and they are 
concerting the destruction of Thebes. Others assure us, he 
hath sent an embassy to the king of Persia ; others, that he 
is fortifying places in Illyria. Thus we all go about framing 
our several tales. I do believe, indeed, Athenians ! that he 
is intoxicated with his greatness, and does entertain his 
imagination with many such visionary projects, as he sees no 
power rising to oppose him. But I cannot be persuaded that 
he hath so taken his measures, that the weakest among us 
(for the weakest they are who spread such rumours) know 
what he is next to do. Let us disregard their tales. Let us 
only be persuaded of this, that he is our enemy ; that we have 
long been subject to his insolence ; that whatever we expected 
to have been done for us by others, hath turned against us ; 
that all the resource left us is in ourselves ; and that, if we 
are not inclined to carry our arms abroad, we should be forced 



238 SPECIMENS OF ANCIENT ELOQUENCE. 

to engage him at home. Let us be persuaded of these things, 
and then we shall come to a proper determination, and be no 
longer guided by rumours. We need not be solicitous to know 
what particular events are to happen. We may be well as- 
sured that nothing good can happen, unless we give due at- 
tention to our affairs, and act as becomes Athenians. 



5. HANNIBAL TO HIS SOLDIERS. 

I know not, soldiers, whether you or your prisoners be encom- 
passed by fortune with the stricter bonds and necessities. Two 
seas enclose you on the right and left ; — not a ship to flee to 
for escaping. Before you is the Po, a river broader and more 
rapid than the Ehone ; behind you are the Alps, over which, 
even when your numbers were undiminished, you were hardly 
able to force a passage. — Here then, soldiers, you must either 
conquer or die, the very first hour you meet the enemy. But 
the same fortune which has laid you under the necessity of 
fighting, has set before your eyes those rewards of victory, than 
which no men are ever wont to wish for greater from the im- 
mortal gods. Should we by our valour recover only Sicily and 
Sardinia, which were ravished from our fathers, those would 
be no inconsiderable prizes. Yet, what are these ? The wealth 
of Eome, whatever riches she has heaped together in the spoils 
of nations, all these, with the masters of them, will be yours. 
You have been long enough employed in driving the cattle 
upon the vast mountains of Lusitania and Celtiberia ; you have 
hitherto met with no reward worthy of the labours and dangers 
you have undergone. The time is now come to reap the full 
recompense of your toilsome marches over so many mountains 
and rivers, and through so many nations, all of them in arms. 
This is the place which fortune has appointed to be the limits 
of your labours ; it is here that you will finish your glorious 
warfare, and receive an ample recompense of your completed 
service. For I would not have you imagine, that victory will 
be as difficult as the name of a Roman war is great and sound- 
ing. It has often happened, that a despised enemy has given 



SPECIMENS OF ANCIENT ELOQUENCE. 2o\) 

a bloody battle, and tlie most renowned kings and nations have 
by a small force been overthrown. And if you but take away 
the glitter of the Eoman name, what is there wherein they 
may stand in competition with you ? For (to say nothing of 
your service in war for twenty years together, with so much 
valour and success) from the very Pillars of Hercules, from the 
ocean, from the utmost bounds of the earth, through so many 
warlike nations of Spain and Gaul, are you not come hither 
victorious? And with whom are you now to fight? With 
raw soldiers, an undisciplined army, beaten, vanquished, be- 
sieged by the Gauls the very last summer ; an army unknown 
to their leader, and unacquainted with him. 

Or shall I, who was born I might almost say, but certainly 
brought up, in the tent of my father, that most excellent gen- 
eral ; shall I, the conqueror of Spain and Gaul, and not only 
of the Alpine nations, but, which is greater yet, of the Alps 
themselves; shall I compare myself with this half-year captain? 
a captain before whom should one place the two armies with- 
out their ensigns, I am persuaded he would not know to which 
of them he is consul ? 

On what side soever I turn my eyes, I behold alb full of 
courage and strength ; a veteran infantry, a most gallant cav- 
alry ; you, my allies, most faithful and valiant ; you, Cartha- 
ginians, whom not only your country's cause, but the justest 
anger impels to battle. The hope, the courage of assailants, 
is always greater than that of those who act upon the defensive. 
With hostile banners displayed, you are come down upon Italy ; 
you bring the war. Grief, injuries, indignities, fire your minds, 
and spur you forward to revenge. — First, they demanded me ; 
that I, your general, should be delivered up to them; next, 
all of you who had fought at the siege of Saguntum ; and we 
were to be put to death by the extremest tortures. Proud and 
cruel nation ! every thing must be yours, and at your disposal ! 
You are to prescribe to us with whom we shall make war, with 
whom we shall make peace ! You are to set us bounds ; to 
shut us up within hills and rivers ; but you — you are not to 
observe the limits which yourselves have fixed ? Pass not the 
Iberus. What next ? Touch not the Saguntines ; is Sagun- 



240 SPECIMENS OF ANCIENT ELOQUENCE. 

turn upon the Iberus ? move not a step towards that city. Is 
it a small matter, then, that you have deprived us of our an- 
cient possessions, Sicily and Sardinia ? you would have Spain 
too? "Well, we shall yield Spain; and then — you will pass 
into Africa ! Will pass, did I say ? — this very year they or- 
dered one of their consuls into Africa, the other into Spain. 
No, soldiers, there is nothing left for us but what we can vindi- 
cate with our swords. Come on, then, — be men. The Eomans 
may with more safety be cowards ; they have their own coun- 
try behind them, have places of refuge to flee to, and are secure 
from danger in the roads thither ; but for you there is no middle 
fortune between death and victory. Let this be but well fixed 
in your minds, and once again, I say, you are conquerors. 

LlVY. 



0. THE SCYTHIAN AMBASSADORS TO ALEXANDER. 

If your person were as gigantic as your desires, the world itself 
would not contain you. Your right hand would touch the east, , 
and your left the west, at the same time. You grasp at more 
than you are equal to. From Europe you reach to Asia ; from 
Asia you lay hold on Europe. And if you should conquer all 
mankind, you seem disposed to wage war with woods and snows, 
with rivers and wild beasts, and to attempt to subdue nature. 
But have you considered the usual course of things ? Have 
you reflected, that great trees are many years in growing to 
their height, and are cut down in an hour ? It is foolish to 
think of the fruit only, without considering the height you 
have to climb to come at it. Take care lest, while you strive 
to reach the top, you fall to the ground with the branches you 
have laid hold on. The lion when dead is devoured by ravens ; 
and rust consumes the hardness of iron. There is nothing so 
strong, but it is in danger from what is weak. It will, there- 
fore, be your wisdom, to take care how you venture beyond 
your reach. Besides, what have you to do with the Scythians, 
or the Scythians with you ? We have never invaded Macedon ; 
why should you attack Scythia ? We inhabit vast deserts and 
pathless woods, where we do not want to hear of the name of 



SPECIMENS OF ANCIENT ELOQUENCE. 241 

Alexander. We are not disposed to submit to slavery; and 
we have no ambition to tyrannize over any nation. — That you 
may understand the genius of the Scythians, we present you 
with a yoke of oxen, an arrow, and a goblet. We use these 
respectively in our commerce with friends and with foes. We 
give to our friends the corn, which we raise by the labour of 
our oxen. With the goblet we join with them in pouring 
drink-offerings to the gods; and with arrows we attack our 
enemies. We have conquered those who have attempted to 
tyrannize over us in our own country, and likewise the kings 
of the Medes and Persians, when they made unjust war upon 
us ; and we have opened to ourselves a way into Egypt. You 
pretend to be the punisher of robbers, and are yourself the 
general robber of mankind. You have taken Lydia ; you have 
seized Syria ; you are master of Persia ; you have subdued the 
Bactrians, and attacked India. All this will not satisfy you, 
unless you lay your greedy and insatiable hands upon our flocks 
and our herds. How imprudent is your conduct ! You grasp 
at riches, the possession of which only increases your avarice. 
You increase your hunger by what should produce satiety ; so 
that the more you have, the more you desire. But have you 
forgot how long the conquest of the Bactrians detained you ? 
While you were subduing them, the Sogdians revolted. Your 
victories serve no other purpose, than to find you employment 
by producing new wars. For the business of every conquest 
is twofold, — to win and to preserve. And though you may 
be the greatest of warriors, you must expect that the nations 
you conquer will endeavour to shake off the yoke as fast as 
possible. For, what people chooses to be under foreign do- 
minion? If you will cross the Tanais, you may travel over 
Scythia, and observe how extensive a territory we inhabit. 
But to conquer us is quite another business. Your army is 
loaded with the cumbrous spoils of many nations. You will 
find the Scythians, at one time, too nimble for your pursuit ; 
and at another time, when you think we are fled far enough 
from you, you will have us surprise you in your camp. For 
the Scythians attack with no less vigour than they fly. Why 
should we put you in mind of the vastness of the country you 



242 SPECIMENS OF ANCIENT ELOQUENCE. 

will have to conquer? The deserts of Scythia arc commonly 
talked of in Greece ; and all the world knows, that our delight 
is to dwell at large, and not in towns or plantations. It will 
therefore be your wisdom to keep with strict attention what 
you have gained. Catching at more, you may lose what you 
have. We have a proverbial saying in Scythia, That Fortune 
has no feet, and is furnished only with hands, to distribute her 
capricious favours, and with fins, to elude the grasp of those 
to whom she has been bountiful. You give yourself out to be 
a god, the son of Jupiter Hammon. It suits the character of 
a god to bestow favours on mortals, not to deprive them of 
what they have. But if you are no god, reflect on the preca- 
rious condition of humanity. You will thus show more wisdom, 
than by dwelling on those subjects which have puffed up your 
pride, and made you forget yourself. You see how little you 
are likely to gain by attempting the conquest of Scythia. On 
the other hand, you may, if you please, have in us a valuable 
alliance. We command the borders of both Europe and Asia. 
There is nothing between us and Bactria, but the river Tanais : 
and our territory extends to Thrace, which, as we have heard, 
borders on Macedon. If you decline attacking us in a hostile 
manner, you may have our friendship. — Nations which have 
never been at w^ar are on an equal footing. But it is in vain 
that confidence is reposed in a conquered people. There can 
be no sincere friendship between the oppressors and the op- 
pressed. Even in peace, the latter think themselves entitled 
to the rights of war against the former. We will, if you think 
good, enter into a treaty with you, according to our manner ; 
which is, not by signing, sealing, and taking the gods to wit- 
ness, as is the Grecian custom, but by doing actual services. 
The Scythians are not used to promise, but to perform without 
promising. And they think an appeal to the gods superfluous ; 
for that those who have no regard for the esteem of men will 
not hesitate to offend the gods by perjury. You may there- 
fore consider with yourself, whether you had better have a 
people of such a character, and so situated as to have it in 
their power either to serve you or to annoy you, according as 
you treat them, for allies, or for enemies. Q. Cuetius. 



RULES FOE BEADING VEBSE. 



On the Slides or Inflections of Verse. 

1 . The first general rule for reading verse is, to give it that measured 
harmonious flow of sound "which distinguishes it from prose, without 
failing into a bombastic, chanting pronunciation, which makes it ridic- 
ulous. 

2. It will not he improper, before we read verse with its poetical 
graces, to pronounce it exactly as if it were prose : this will he depriv- 
ing verse of its beauty, but will tend to preserve it from deformity : the 
tones of voice will be frequently different, but the inflections will be 
nearly the same. 

3. But though an elegant and harmonious pronunciation of verse will 
sometimes oblige us to adopt different inflections from those we use in 
prose, it may still be laid down as a good general rule, that verse re- 
quires the same inflections as prose, though less strongly marked, and 
more approaching to monotones. 

4. Wherever a sentence, or member of a sentence, would necessarily 
require the falling inflection in prose, it ought always to have the same 
inflection in poetry ; for though, if we were to read verse prosaically, 
we should often place the falling inflection where the style of verse 
would require the rising, yet in those parts where a portion of perfect- 
sense, or the conclusion of a sentence, necessarily requires the falling 
inflection, the same inflection must be adopted both in verse and prose. 

5. In the same manner, though we frequently suspend the voice by 
the rising inflection in verse, where, if the composition were prose, we 
should adopt the falling, yet, wherever in prose the member or sentence 
would necessarily require the rising inflection, this inflection must nec- 
essarily be adopted in verse. 

6. It may be observed, indeed, that it is in the frequent use of the 
rising inflection, where prose would adopt the falling, that the song 
of poetry consists ; familiar, strong, argumentative subjects naturally 
enforce the language with, the failing inflection, as this is the natural 
expression of activity, force, and precision ; but grand, beautiful, and 
plaintive subjects slide naturally into the rising inflection, as this is 
expressive of awe, admiration, and melancholy, where the mind may 
be said to be passive ; and it is this general tendency of the plaintive 
tone to assume the rising inflection, which inclines injudicious readers 
to adopt it at those pauses where the falling inflection is absolutely 
necessary, and for want of which the pronunciation degenerates into 
the whine, so much and so justly disliked ; for it is very remarkable, 
that if, where the sense concludes, we are careful to preserve the falling 
inflection, and let the voice drop into the natural talking tone, the voice 



244 RULES FOR READING VERSE. 

may be suspended in the rising inflection on any other part of the verse, 
with very little danger of falling into the chant of had readers. 



On the Accent and Emphasis of Verse. 

In verse, every syllable must have the same accent, and every word 
the same emphasis, as in prose. 

In words of two syllables, hoAvever, when the poet transposes the 
accent from the second syllable to the first, we may comply with him, 
without occasioning any harshness in the verse; — but when, in such 
words, he changes the accent from the first to the second syllable, every 
reader who has the least delicacy of feeling will certainly preserve the 
common accent of these words on theirs* syllable. 

In misaccented words of three syllables, perhaps the least offensive 
method to the ear of preserving the accent, and not entirely violating 
the quantity, would be to place an accent on the syllable immediately 
preceding that on which the poet has misplaced it, without dropping 
that which is so misplaced. 

The same rule seems to hold good where the poet has placed the 
accent on the first and last syllable of a word, which ought to have it 
on the middle syllable. 

Where a word admits of some diversity in placing the accent, it is 
scarcely necessary to observe, that the verse ought in this case to decide. 

But when the poet has with great judgment contrived that his num- 
bers shall be harsh and grating, in order to correspond with the ideas 
they suggest, the common accentuation must be preserved. 



How the Vowels e and o are to be pronounced, when apostrophized- 

The vowel e, which in poetry is often cut off by an apostrophe in the 
word the and in unaccented syllables before r, as dangerous, generous, 
&c, ought always to be preserved in pronunciation, because the syllable 
it forms is so short as to admit of being sounded with the succeeding 
syllable, so as not to increase the number of syllables to the ear, or at 
least to hurt the melody. 

The same observations, in every respect, hold good in the pronunci- 
ation of the preposition to, which ought always to be sounded long, like 
the adjective two, however it may be printed. 

.The adverb even must not be abbreviated in pronunciation. 



On the Pause or Caisura of Verse. 
Almost every verse admits of a pause in or near the middle of the 



RULES FOR READING VERSE. 245 

Hue, which is called the Caesura: this must he carefully observed in 
reading verse, or much of the distinctness, and almost all the harmony, 
will be lost. 

Though the most harmonious place for the capital pause is after the 
fourth syllable, it may, for the sake of expressing the sense strongly 
and suitably, and even sometimes for the sake of variety, be placed at 
several other intervals. 

The end of a line in verse naturally inclines us to pause ; and the 
words that refuse a pause so seldom occur at the end of a verse, that 
we often pause between words in verse where we should not in prose, 
but where a pause would by no means interfere with the sense. This, 
perhaps, may be the reason why a pause at the end of a line in poetry 
is supposed to be in compliment to the verse, when the very same pause 
in prose is allowable, and perhaps eligible, but neglected as unnecessary: 
however this be, certain it is, that if we pronounce many lines in Milton, 
so as to make the equality of impressions on the ear distinctly percep- 
tible at the end of every line ; if, by making this pause, we make the 
pauses that mark the sense less perceptible, we exchange a solid advan- 
tage for a childish rhythm, and, by endeavouring to preserve the name 
of verse, lose all its meaning and energy. 



On the Cadence of Verse. 

Ik order to form a cadence at a period in rhyming verse, we must 
adopt the falling inflection with considerable force in the caesura of the 
last line but one. 



How to 'pronounce a Simile in Poetry. 

A simile in poetry ought always to be read in a lower tone of voice 
than that part of the passage which precedes it. 

This rule is one of the greatest embellishments of poetic pronuncia- 
tion, and is to be observed no less in blank verse than in rhyme. 



General Rules. 

Where there is no pause in the sense at the end of a verse, the last 
word must have exactly the same inflection it would have in prose. 

Sublime, grand, and magnificent description in poetry requires a lower 
tone of voice, and a sameness nearly approaching to a monotone. 

When the first line of a couplet does not form perfect sense, it is nec- 
essary to suspend the voice at the end of the line with the same inflection 
as would be employed in prose. 

This rule holds good even where the first line forms perfect sense by 



246 RULES FOB READING VERSE. 

itself, and is followed by another forming perfect sense likewise, provided 
the first line does not end with an emphatic word which requires the 
falling slide. 

But if the first line ends with an emphatical word requiring the fall- 
ing slide, this slide must be given to it, but in a higher tone of voice 
than the same slide in the last line of the couplet. 

When the first line of a couplet does not form sense, and the second 
line, either from its not forming sense, or from its being a question, re- 
quires the rising slide ; in this case, the first line must end with such a 
pause as the sense requires, but without any alteration in the tone of 
the voice. 

In the same manner, if a question requires the second line of the coup- 
let to adopt the rising slide, the first ought to have a pause at the end ; 
but the voice, without any alteration, ought to carry on the same tone 
to the second line, and to continue this tone almost to the end. 

The same principles of harmony and variety induce us to read a triplet 
with a sameness of voice, or a monotone, on the end of the first line, the 
rising slide on the end of the second, and the falling on the last. 

This rule, however, from the various sense of the triplet, is liable to 
many exceptions. — But, with very few exceptions, it may be laid down 
as a rule, that a quatrain or stanza of four lines of alternate verse, mav 
be read with the monotone ending the first line, the rising slide ending 
the second and third, and the falling the last. 

The plaintive tone, so essential to the delivery of elegiac composition, 
greatly diminishes the slides, and reduces them almost to monotones; 
nay, a perfect monotone, without any inflection at ail, is sometimes very 
judiciously introduced in reading verse. 



On Scanning. 

A certain number of syllables connected form a foot. They are called 
feet, because it is by their aid that the voice, as it were, steps along 
through the verse, in a measured pace. 

All feet used in poetry consist either of two or of three syllables, and 
are reducible to eight kinds ; four of two syllables, and four of three, as 
follow : — 

The hyphen — marks a long, and the breve — ' a short syllable. 



DissijllaU 
A Trochee — --> 
An Iambus *-* — 
A Spondee 



Trisyllable. 
A Dactyl — w 

An Amphibrach *—- — 
An Anapaest «— ' — 



A Pyrrhic ^-* ^ i A Tribrach 



POETRY. 



1. THE MONTH OF MARCH. 

The stormy March has come at last, 

With wind and cloud and changing skies ; 

I hear the rushing of the blast, 

That through the snowy valley flies. 

Ah ! passing few are they who speak, 

"Wild stormy month, in praise of thee ; 
Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleak. 

Thou art a welcome month to me. 

For thou to northern lands again 

The glad and glorious sun dost bring, 
And thou hast joined the gentle train, 

And wear st the gentle name of Spring. 

And. in thy reign of blast and storm, 

Smiles many a long, bright sunny day, 
"When the changed winds are soft and warm, 

And heaven puts on the blue of May. 

Then sing along the gushing rills, 

And the full springs, from frosts set free. 

That, brightly leaping down the hills. 
Are just set out to meet the sea. 

The year's departing beauty hides 

Of wintry storms the sullen threat ; 
But in thy sternest frown abides 

A look of kindly promise yet. 

Thou bring'st the hope of those calm skies, 

And that soft time of sunny showers, 
When the wide bloom on earth that lies 

Seems of a brighter w r orld than ours. Bryan' 



2. THE CUCKOO. 

Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove ! 

Thou messenger of spring ! 
Now* heaven repairs thy rural seat, 

And w r oods thy welcome sing. 



248 EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 

What time the daisy decks the green, 

Thy certain voice we hear ; 
Hast thou a star to guide thy path, 

Or mark the rolling year ? 

Delightful visitant ! with thee 

I hail the time of flowers, 
And hear the sound of music sweet 

From birds among the bowers. 

The schoolboy, wandering through the wood, 

To pull the primrose gay, 
Starts the new voice of spring to hear, 

And imitates thy lay. 

What time the pea puts on the bloom. 

Thou flyest thy vocal vale, 
An annual guest in other lands 

Another spring to hail. 

Sweet bird ! thy bower is ever green, 

Thy sky is ever clear ; 
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, 

No winter in thy year. 

Oh ! could I fly, I 'd fly with thee ! 

We 'd make, with joyful wing, 
Our annual visit o'er the globe, 

Companions of the spring. Logan. 



3. THOU ART, O GOD. 

The day is thine, the night also is thine : thou hast prepared the light and 
the sun. Thou hast set all the borders of the earth : thou hast made sum- 
mer and winter. Psalm lxxiv. 16, 17. 

Thou art, God, the life and light 

Of all this wondrous world we see ; 
Its glow by day, its smile by night, 

Are but reflections caught from thee ! 
Where'er we turn, thy glories shine, 
And all things fair and bright are thine. 

WTien day with farewell beam delays 
Among the opening clouds of even, 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 249 

And we can almost think we gaze 

Through golden vistas into heaven ; 
Those hues that mark the sun's decline, 
So soft, so radiant, Lord, are thine. 

When night, with wings of stormy gloom, 

O'ershadows all the earth and skies, 
Like some dark beauteous bird, whose plume 

Is sparkling with a thousand eyes ; 
That sacred gloom, those fires divine, 
So grand, so countless, Lord, are thine. 

When youthful spring around us breathes. 

Thy spirit warms her fragrant sigh, 
And every flower the summer wreathes 

Is born beneath that kindling eye ; 
Where'er we turn thy glories shine, 
And all things bright and fan* are thine. 

Thomas Moore. 



4. HORATIUS OFFERING TO DEFEND THE BRIDGE. 

Then outspake brave Horatius, 
The captain of the gate : 
" To every man upon the earth 
" Death cometh soon or late. 
" And how can man die better 
" Than facing fearful odds, 
" For the ashes of his fathers, 
" And the temples of his gods. 

" And for the tender mother 
" Who dandled him to rest, 
" And for the wife who nurses 
" His baby at her breast. 
" And for the holy maidens 
" Who feed the eternal flame, 
" To save them from false Sextus, 
" That -wrought the deed of shame ? 

" Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, 
" With all the speed ye may ; 

l2 



'250 EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 

" I, with two more to help me, 
" Will hold the foe in play. 
" In yon strait path a thousand 
" May well be stopped by three ; 
" Now who will stand on either hand, 
" And keep the bridge with me ? " 

Then outspake Spnrius Lartius ; 

A Eamnian proud was he : 

" Lo, I will stand at thy right hand, 

" And keep the bridge with thee." 

And outspake strong Herminius ; 

Of Titian blood was he : 

" I will abide on thy left side, 

" And keep the bridge with thee." 

" Horatius," quoth the Consul, 
" As thou say'st, so let it be ;" 
And straight against that great array 
Forth went the dauntless three. 
For Romans in Eome's quarrel 
Spared neither land nor gold, 
Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life, 
In the brave days of old. 

Then none was for a party ; 
Then all were for the state ; 
Then the great man helped the poor. 
And the poor man loved the great ; 
Then lands were fairly portioned ; 
Then spoils were fairly sold ; 
The Romans were like brothers 
' In the brave days of old. Macaulay 



5. SKETCH OF CHATHAM. 

[OTS, alas ! the few that have 
Where most they nourish, upon English ground, 
The country's need have scantily supplied, 
And the last left the scene when Chatham died. 

B. Not so — the virtue still adorns our age, 
Though the chief actor died upon the stage. 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 251 

In him Demosthenes was heard again ; 
Liberty taught him her Athenian strain ; 
She clothed him with authority and awe, 
Spoke from his lips, and in his looks gave law. 
His speech, his form, his action, full of grace, 
And all his country beaming in his face, 
He stood, as some inimitable hand 
Would strive to make a Paul or Tully stand. 
No sycophant or slave, that dared oppose 
Her sacred cause, but trembled when he rose ; 
And every venal stickler for the yoke 
Felt himself crushed at the first word he spoke. 

COWPER. 



6. SKETCHES OF BURKE AND GARRICK. 

Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such, 
We scarcely can praise it or blame it too much ; 
Who, born for the universe, narrowed his mind, 
And to party gave up what was meant for mankind. 
Though fraught with all learning, yet straining his throa 
To persuade Tommy Townshend to lend him a vote ; 
Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining, 
And thought of convincing, while they thought of dining 
Though equal to all things, for all things unfit ; 
Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit ; 
For a patriot too cool ; for a drudge disobedient, 
And too fond of the right to pursue the expedient. 
In short, 'twas his fate, unemployed or in place, Sir, 
To eat mutton cold and cut blocks with a razor. 

Here lies David Garrick, describe him who can, 
An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man ; 
As an actor, confessed without rival to shine ; 
As a wit, if not first, in the very first line ; 
Yet with talents like these and excellent heart, 
The man had his failings — a dupe to his heart ; 
Like an ill-judging beauty, his colours he spread, 
And beplastered with rouge his own natural red. 
On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting ; 
'Twas only that when he was off he was acting. 
With no reason on earth to go out of his way, 
He turned and he varied full ten times a-day ; 



252 EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 

Though secure of our hearts, yet confoundedly sick 

If they were not his own by finessing and trick ; 

He cast off his friends as a huntsman his pack, 

For he knew when he pleased he could whistle them back. 

Of praise a mere glutton, he swallowed what came, 

And the puff of a dunce he mistook it for fame ; 

Till his relish grown callous almost to disease, 

Who peppered the highest was surest to please. 

But let us be candid, and speak out our mind, 

If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind. 

Ye Kenricks, ye Kellys, and Woodfalls so grave, 

What a commerce was yours, while you got and you gave ; 

How did Grub-street reecho the shouts that you raised, 

While he was be-Rosciused and you were bepraised ! 

But peace to his spirit, wherever it flies, 

To act as an angel and mix with the skies, 

Those poets who owe their best fame to his skill, 

Shall still be his flatterers, go where he will. 

Old Shakspeare, receive him with praise and with love, 

And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above. 

Goldsmith. 



7. SLAVERY. 

Canst thou, and honoured with a Christian name, 

Buy what is woman-born, and feel no shame ; 

Trade hi the blood of innocence, and plead 

Expedience as a warrant for the deed ? 

So may the wolf, whom famine has made bold 

To quit the forest and invade the fold : 

So may the ruffian, who, with ghostly glide, 

Dagger in hand, steals close to your bedside ; 

Not he, but his emergence forced the door, 

He found it inconvenient to be poor. Cowper. 



8. CONFIDENCE IN GOD. 

How are thy servants blest, Lord ! 

How sure is then- defence ! 
Eternal wisdom is their guide, 

Their help omnipotence. 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 253 

In foreign realms, and lands remote, 

Supported by thy care, 
Through burning climes I passed unhurt, 

And breathed in tainted air. 

Thy mercy sweetened every soil. 

Made every region please ; 
The hoary Alpine hills it warmed, 

And smoothed the Tyrrhene seas. 

Think, my soul, devoutly think, 

How with affrighted eyes 
Thou saw'st the wide-extended deep 

In all its horrors rise ! 

Confusion dwelt in every face, 

And fear in every heart, 
When waves on waves, and gulfs in gulfs, 

O'ercame the pilot's art. 

Yet then from all my griefs, Lord, 

Thy mercy set me free ; 
While in the confidence of prayer 

My soul took hold on thee. 

For though in dreadful whirls we hung 

High on the broken wave, 
. I knew thou wert not slow to hear, 

Nor impotent to save. 

The storm was laid, the winds retired, 

Obedient to thy will ; 
The sea, that roared at thy command, 

At thy command was still. 

In midst of dangers, fears, and deaths, 

Thy goodness I'll adore ; 
And praise thee for thy mercies past, 

And humbly hope for more. 

My life, if thou preserv'st my life, 

Thy sacrifice shall be ; 
And death, if death must be my doom, 

Shall join my soul to thee. Addison. 



254 EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 



9. TO THE SKYLARK. 

Hail to the blithe spirit ! 

Bird thou never wert, 
That from heaven or near it, 

Pourest thy full heart, 
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. 

Higher still and higher 

From the earth thou spfingest, 
Like a cloud of fire, 

The blue deep thou wingest, 
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. 

All the earth and air 

With thy voice is loud. 
As, when night is bare, 
From one lonely cloud 
The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed. 

Teach us, sprite or bird, 

What sweet thoughts are thine ; 
I have never heard 

Praise of love or wine 
That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. 

Chorus hymeneal, 

Or triumphal chant, 
Matched with thine would be all 

But an empty vaunt — 
A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. 

With thy clear keen joyance 

Languor cannot be ; 
Shadow of annoyance 

Never came near thee. 
Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. 



Thou of death must deem 
Things more true and deep 
Than we mortals dream, 
Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream ? 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 255 

Bettor than all measures 

Of delight and sound, 
Better than all treasures 

That in books are found, 
Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground ! 

Teach me half the gladness 

That thy brain must know, 
Such harmonious madness 
From my lips would flow, 
The world should listen then, as I am listening now. 

Abridged from Shelley. 



10. HOPE, THE FRIEND OF THE BRAVE. 

Friend of the brave ! in peril's darkest 7 hour, 
Intrepid Virtue 7 looks to thee for power' ; 
To thee the heart its trembling homage yields, 
On stormy floods 7 and carnage-covered fields', 
When front to front the bannered hosts 7 combine, 
Halt ere they close 7 , and form the dreadful line'. 
When all is still 7 on Death's devoted soil, 
The march- worn soldier 7 mingles for the toil' ; 
As rings his glittering tube 7 , he lifts on high 
The dauntless brow 7 , and spirit-speaking eye x j 
Hails in his heart the triumph 7 yet to come, 
And hears the stormy music 7 in the drum v ! 

And such 7 thy strength-inspiring aid that bore 
The hardy Byron 7 to his native shore' — 
In horrid' climes, where Chiloe's tempests sweep 
Tumultuous murmurs o'er the troubled deep 7 , 
'Twas his' to mourn misfortune's rudest 7 shock, 
Scourged by the winds 7 , and cradled on the rock', 
To wake each joyless 7 morn, and search again 
The famished haunts of solitary' men ; 
Whose race', unyielding as their native storm 7 , 
Know not a trace 7 of Nature but the form' ; 
Yet, at thy' call, the hardy tar pursued 7 , 
Pale', but intrepid 7 , sad 7 , out unsubdued', 
Pierced the deep woods', and, hailing from afar, 
The moon's pale planet and the northern star 7 ; 



256 EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 

Paused at each dreary cry', unheard before', 

Hyaenas' in the wild 7 , and mermaids' on the shore' ; 

Till, led by thee o'er many a cliff sublime', 

He found a warmer' world, a milder' clime, 

A home' to rest', a shelter' to defend', 

Peace' and repose', a Briton' and a friend' ! Campbell. 



11. — the moral change anticipated by hope. 

Hope ! when I mourn, with sympathizing mind, 
The wrongs of fate, the woes of human kind, 
Thy blissful omens bid my spirit see 
The boundless fields of rapture yet to be ; 
I watch the wheels of Nature's mazy plan, 
And learn the future by the past of man. 

Come, bright Improvement ! on the car of Time, 
And rule the spacious world from clime to clime ; 
Thy handmaid arts shall every wild explore, 
Trace every wave, and culture every shore. 
On Erie's banks, where tigers steal along, 
And the dread Indian chants a dismal song, 
Where human fiends on midnight errands walk, 
And bathe in brains the murderous tomahawk ; 
There shall the flocks on thymy pasture stray, 
And shepherds dance at summer's opening day : 
Each wandering genius of the lonely glen 
Shall start, to view the glittering haunts of men, 
And silent watch, on woodland heights around, 
The village curfew as it tolls profound. 

Where barbarous hordes on Scythian mountains roam, 
Truth, Mercy, Freedom, yet shall find a home ; 
Where'er degraded Nature bleeds and pines, 
From Guinea's coast to Sibir's dreary mines, 
Truth shall pervade the unfathomed darkness there, 
And light the dreadful features of despair. — 
Hark ! the stern captive spurns his heavy load. 
And asks the image back that Heaven bestowed ! 
Fierce in his eye the fire of valour burns, 
And, as the slave departs, the man returns. 

Campbell. 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 257 



12. ON THE DOWNFAL OF POLAND. 

On ! sacred Truth ! thy triumph ceased a while, 
And Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile, 
When leagued Oppression poured to Northern wars 
Her whiskered pandoors and her fierce hussars, 
Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn, 
Pealed her loud drum, and twanged her trumpet horn : 
Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van, 
Presaging wrath to Poland — and to man ! 

Warsaw's last champion from her height surveyed, 
Yv ide o'er the fields, a waste of ruin laid, — 
Oh ! Heaven ! he cried, — my bleeding country save !— 
Is there no hand on high to shield the brave ? 
Yet, though destruction sweep those lovely plains, 
Eise, fellow-men ! our country yet remains ! 
By that dread name we wave the sword on high ! 
And swear for her to live ! — with her to die ! 

He said, and on the rampart -heights arrayed 
His trusty warriors, few, but undismayed ; 
Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form, 
Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm ; 
Low murmuring sounds along their banners fly, 
Eevenge, or death, — the watch-word and reply ; 
Then pealed the notes, omnipotent to charm, 
And the loud tocsin tolled their last alarm ! — 

In vain, alas ! in vain, ye gallant few ! 
From rank to rank your volleyed thunder flew : — 
Oh ! bloodiest picture in the book of Time. 
Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime ; 
Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe, 
Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe ! 
Dropped from her nerveless grasp the shattered spear, 
Closed her blight eye, and curbed her high career ; — 
Hope for a season bade the world farewell, 
And Freedom shrieked — as Kosciusko fell ! 

The sun went down, nor ceased the carnage there, 
Tumultuous murder shook the midnight air — 
On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow, 
His blood-dyed waters murmuring far below ; 



258 EXTRACTS IX VERSE. 

The storm prevails, the rampart yields a way, 
Bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay ! 
Hark ! as the smouldering piles with thunder fall. 
A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call ! 
Earth shook — red meteors flashed along the sky, 
And conscious Nature shuddered at the cry ! 

Oh ! righteous Heaven ! ere Freedom found a grave. 
Why slept the sword, omnipotent to save ? 
Where was thine arm, Vengeance ! where thy rod, 
That smote the foes of Zion and of God ; 
That crushed proud Ammon, when his iron car 
Was yoked in wrath, and thundered from afar ? 
Where was the storm that slumbered till the host 
Of blood-stained Pharaoh left their trembling coast ; 
Then bade the deep in wild commotion flow, 
And heaved an ocean on their march below ? 

Departed spirits of the mighty dead ! 
Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled ! 
Friends of the world ! restore your swords to man. 
Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van ! 
Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone, 
And make her arm puissant as your own ! 
Oh ! once again to Freedom's cause return 
The patriot Tell— the Bruce of Bannockburx ! 

Campbell. 



13. THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 

Oh ! lives there, heaven, beneath thy dread expanse, 

One hopeless, dark idolater of Chance, 

Content to feed, with pleasures unrefined, 

The lukewarm passions of a lowly mind ; 

Who, mouldering earthward, 'reft of every trust, 

In joyless union wedded to the dust, 

Could all his parting energy dismiss, 

And call this barren world sufficient bliss ? 

There live, alas ! of heaven-directed mien, 

Of cultured soul, and sapient eye serene, 

Who hail thee, Man ! the pilgrim of a day, 

Spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay, 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 259 

Frail as the leaf in autumn's yellow bower, 
Dust in the wind, or dew upon the flower ; 
A friendless slave, a child without a sire, 
Whose mortal life, and momentary fire, 
Lights to the grave his chance-created form, 
As ocean-wrecks illuminate the storm ; 
And, when the gun's tremendous flash is o'er, 
To night and silence sink for evermore ! 

Are these the pompous tidings ye proclaim, 
lights of the world, and demi-gods of Fame ? 
Is this your triumph — this your proud applause — 
Children of truth, and champions of her cause ? 
For this hath Science searched, on weary wing, 
By shore and sea — each mute and living thing ? 
Launched with Iberia's pilot from the steep, 
To worlds unknown, and isles beyond the deep ? 
Or round the cope her living chariot driven, 
And wheeled in triumph through the signs of heaven ? 
Oh ! star-eyed Science, hast thou wandered there, 
To waft us home the message of despair ? 
Then bind the palm, thy sage's brow to suit, 
Of blasted leaf, and death-distilling fruit ! 
Ah me ! the laurel' d wreath that Murder rears, 
Blood-nursed, and watered by the widow's tears. 
Seems not so foul, so tainted, and so dread, 
As waves the night-shade round the sceptic head. 
What is the bigot's torch, the tyrant's chain ? 
I smile on death, if heaven- ward Hope remain ! 
But, if the warring winds of nature's strife 
Be all the faithless charter of my life, 
If chance awaked, inexorable power ! 
This frail and feverish being of an hour ; 
Doomed o'er the world's precarious scene to sweep, 
Swift as the tempest travels o'er the deep, 
To know delight but by her parting smile, 
And toil, and wish, and weep, a little while ; 
Then melt, ye elements, that formed in vain 
This troubled pulse, and visionary brain ! 
Fade, ye wild flowers, memorials of my doom ! 
And sink, ye stars, that light me to the tomb ! 
Truth, ever lovely, since the world began, 
The foe of tyrants, and the friend of man, — 



260 EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 

I low can thy words from balmy slumber start 

Keposing Virtue, pillowed on the heart ! 

Yet, if thy voice the note of thunder rolled, 

And that were true which Nature never told ; 

Let Wisdom smile not on her conquered field ; 

No rapture dawns, no treasure is revealed ! 

Oh ! let her read, nor loudly, nor elate, 

The doom that bars us from a better fate ; 

But, sad as angels for a good man's sin, 

Weep to record, and blush to give it in ! Campbell 



14. AFFLICTION. 

Affliction, one day as she harked to the war 

Of a stormy and struggling billow, 
Drew a beautiful form on the sand of the shore 

With the branch of a weeping willow. 
Jupiter, struck with the noble plan, 

As he roamed on the verge of the ocean, 
Breathed on the figure, and, calling it man, 

Endued it with life and with motion. 

A creature so glorious in mind and in frame, 

So stamped with each parent's impression, 
Between them a point of contention became, 

Each claiming the right of possession. 
He is mine, says Affliction, I gave him his birth, 

I alone am his cause of creation. 
The materials were furnished by me, answered Earth ; 

I gave him, said Jove — animation. 

The gods all assembled in solemn divan, 

After hearing each claimant's petition, 
Pronounced a definitive sentence on man, 

And thus settled his fate's disposition. 
Let Affliction possess her own child till the woes 

Of life seem to hazard and goad it ; 
After death — give his body to Earth, whence it rose, 

And his spirit to Jove, who bestowed it. Sheridan. 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 261 



15. JERUSALEM. 



Jerusalem ! Jerusalem ! the blessing lingers yet 

( )n the City of the Chosen, where the Sabbath seal was set ; 

And though her sons are scattered, and her daughters weep apart, 

While Desolation, like a pall, weighs down each faithful heart ; 

As the plain beside the waters, as the cedar on the hills, 

She shall rise in strength and beauty when the Lord Jehovah wills : 

He has promised her protection, and the holy pledge is good, 

"lis whispered through the olive groves, and murmured by the flood, 

As in the Sabbath stillness the Jordan's flow is heard, 

And by the Sabbath breezes the hoary trees are stirred. 

Mrs Hale's Rhyme of Life. 



16. COMPENSATION. 

Liberal, not lavish, is kind Nature's hand, 

Nor was perfection made for man below, 

Yet all her schemes with nicest art are planned, 

Good counteracting ill, and gladness woe. 

With gold and gems if Chilian mountains glow, 

If bleak and barren Scotia's hills arise ; 

There plague and poison, lust and rapine grow ; 

Here peaceful are the vales and pure the skies. 

And freedom fires the soul and sparkles in the eyes. 

Then grieve not thou to whom the indulgent Muse 
Vouches a portion of celestial fire ; 
Nor blame the partial fates, if they refuse 
The imperial banquet and the rich attire, 
Know thine own worth and venerate the lyre. 
Wilt thou debase the heart by God refined ? 
No ! let thy heaven-taught soul to heaven aspire, 
To fancy, freedom, harmony, resigned ; 
Ambition's groveling crew for ever left behind. 

! how canst thou renounce the boundless store 
Of charms which Nature to her votary yields ! 
The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, 
The pomp of groves, the garniture of fields : 



262 EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 

All that the genial ray of morning gilds, 

And all that echoes to the song of even, 

All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields, 

And all the dread magnificence of heaven, 

O how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven ! 

&EATTIE. 



17. — VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES. 

The festal blazes, the triumphal show, 

The ravished standard, and the captive foe, 

The senate's thanks, the gazette's pompous tale, 

With force resistless o'er the brave prevail. 

Such bribes the rapid Greek o'er Asia whirled, 

For such the steady Eoman shook the world ; 

For such in distant lands the Britons shine, 

And stain with blood the Danube or the Rhine. 

This power has praise, that virtue scarce can warm, 

Till fame supplies the universal charm ; 

Yet reason frowns on war's unequal game, 

Where wasted nations raise a single name, 

And mortgaged states their grandsires' wreaths regret, 

From age to age in everlasting debt ; 

Wreaths which at last the dear-bought right -convey, 

To rust on medals, or on stones decay. 

On what foundations rests the warrior's pride, 

How vain his hopes let Swedish Charles decide ; 

A frame of adamant, a soul of fire, 

No dangers fright him, and no labours tire ; 

O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain, 

Unconquered lord of pleasure and of pain ; 

No joys to him pacific sceptres yield, 

War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field. 

Behold surrounding kings their power combine, 

And one capitulate and one resign ; 

Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain : 

" Think nothing gained," he cries, " till nought remain, 

" On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards fly, 

" And all be mine beneath the polar sky." 

The march begins hi military state, 

And nations on his eye suspended wait ; 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 263 

Stern famine guards the solitary coast, 

And winter barricades the realms of frost ; 

He comes, nor want nor cold his course delay ; 

Hide, blushing glory, hide Pultowa's day ; 

The vanquished hero leaves his broken bands, 

And shows his miseries in distant lands, 

Condemned a needy supplicant to wait, 

While ladies interpose and slaves debate. 

But did not chance at length her error mend ? 

Did no subverted empire mark his end? 

Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound ? 

Or hostile millions press him to the ground ? 

His fall was destined to a barren strand, 

A petty fortress, and a dubious hand ; 

He left the name at which the world grew pale, 

To point a moral or adorn a tale. Dft Johnson. 



18. THE DEATH OF MARMION. 

With fruitless labour, Clara bound, 

And strove to staunch the gushing wound : 

The Monk, with unavailing cares, 

Exhausted all the Church's prayers. 

Ever, he said, that, close and near, 

A lady's voice was in his ear, 

And that the priest he could not hear, 

For that she ever sung, 
" In the lost battle, borne down by the flying, 
" Where mingles war's rattle with groans of the dying!" 

So the notes rung ; — 
" Avoid thee, Fiend ! — with cruel hand, 
" Shake not the dying sinner's sand! — 
" look, my son, upon yon sign 
" Of the Redeemer's grace divine ; 

" think on faith and bliss ! — 
" By many a death-bed I have been, 
" And many a sinner's parting seen, 

" But never aught like this." — 
The war, that for a space did fail, 
Now trebly thundering swelled the gale, 



264 EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 

And — Stanley! was the cry; — 

A light on Marmion's visage spread, 

And fired his glazing eve : 
With dying hand, above his head 
He shook the fragment of his blade, 

And shouted " Victory ! — 
" Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on!" 
Were the last words of Marmion. Scott. 



19. HYMN OF THE HEBREW MAID. 

When Israel, of the Lord beloved, 

Out from the land of bondage came, 
Her father's God before her moved, 

An awful guide in smoke and flame. 
By day, along the astonished lands, 

The cloudy pillar glided slow. 
By night, Arabia's crimsoned sands 

Returned the fiery column's glow. 

Then rose the choral hymn of praise, 

And trump and timbrel answered keen ; 
And Zion's daughters poured then* lays. 

With priest's and warrior's voice between. 
No portents now our foes amaze, 

Forsaken Israel wanders lone ; 
Our fathers would not know thy ways, 

And thou hast left them to their own. 

But, present still, though now unseen ! 

When brightly shines the prosperous day, 
Be thoughts of thee a cloudy screen 

To temper the deceitful ray. 
And, oh ! when stoops on Judah's path 

In shade and storm the frequent night, 
Be thou, long-suffering, slow to wrath, 

A burning and a sliming light ! 

Our harps were left by Babel's streams, 
The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's scorn ; 

No censer round our altar beams, 

And mute are timbrel, trump, and horn ; 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 265 

But thou hast said the blood of goat, 

The flesh of rams, I will not prize ; 
A contrite heart, an humble thought, 

Are mine accepted sacrifice. Scott. 



20. ON THE ARRIVAL OF THE BRITISH ARMY IN PORTUGAL 

TO ASSIST THE NATIVES IN EXPELLING THE FRENCH. 

It was a dread, yet spirit-stirring sight ! 

The billows foamed beneath a thousand oars, 

Fast as they land the red- cross ranks unite, 

Legions on legions brightening all the shores, 

Then banners rise, and cannon-signal roars, 

Then peals the warlike thunder of the drum, 

Thrills the loud fife, the trumpet-flourish pours, 

And patriot hopes awake, and doubts are dumb, 

For, bold in Freedom's cause, the bands of Ocean come ! 

A various host they came — whose ranks display 
Each mode in which the warrior meets the fight, 
The deep battalion locks its firm array, 
And meditates his aim the marksman light ; 
Far glance the lines of sabres flashing bright, 
Where mounted squadrons shake the echoing mead, 
Lacks not artillery breathing flame and night, 
Nor the fleet ordnance whirled by rapid steed, 
That rivals lightning's flash in ruin and in speed. 

A various host — from kindred realms they came, 

Brethren in arms, but rivals in renown — 

For yon fan: bands shall merry England claim, 

And with their deeds of valour deck her crown. 

Hers their bold port, and hers then martial frown, 

And hers their scorn of death in Freedom's cause, 

Their eyes of azure and their locks of brown, 

And the blunt speech that bursts without a pause, 

And free-born thoughts, which league the soldier with the laws. 

And ! loved warriors of the Minstrel's land ! 
Yonder your bonnets nod, your tartans wave ! 
The rugged form may mark the mountain-band, 
And harsher features, and a mien more grave ; 
But ne'er in battle-field throbbed heart more brave 

M 



266 EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 

Than that which beats beneath the Scottish plaid, 

And when the pibroch bids the battle rave, 

And level for the charge your arms are laid, 

Where lives the desperate foe that for such onset staid ! 

Hark ! from yon stately ranks what laughter rings, 

Mingling wild mirth with war's stern minstrelsy, 

His jest while each blithe comrade round him flings, 

And moves to death with military glee : 

Boast, Erin, boast them ! tameless, frank, and free, 

In kindness warm, and fierce in danger known, 

Eough Nature's children, humorous as she : 

And he, yon Chieftain — strike the proudest tone 

Of thy bold harp, green Isle ! — the Hero is thine own. 

Scott. 



21. FROM THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. 

Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle 
Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime, 

Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, 
Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime ? 

Know ye the land of the cedar and vine, 

Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine ; 

Where the light wings of zephyr, oppressed with perfume, 

Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gul* in her bloom ; 

Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit, 

And the voice of the nightingale never is mute ; 

Where the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky, 

In colour though varied, in beauty may vie, 

And the purple of Ocean is deepest in dye ; 

Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine, 

And all, save the spirit of man, is divine ? 

1 Tis the clime of the East ; 'tis the land of the Sun — 

Can he smile on such deeds as his children have done?f 

Oh ! wild as the accents of lovers' farewell 

Are the hearts which they bear, and the tales which they tell. 

Byron. 



* The Rose. 

•f " Souls made of fire, and children of the sun, 
" With whom Revenge is virtue." Young's Bcvenge. 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 267 



22. ON ANCIENT GREECE. 

Clime of the unforgotten brave ! — 

Whose land from plain to mountain-cave 

Was Freedom's home or Glory's grave — 

Shrine of the mighty ! can it be, 

That this is all remains of thee ? 

Approach, thou craven crouching slave — 

Say, is not this Thermopylae ? 

These waters blue that round you lave, 

Oh servile offspring of the free — 

Pronounce what sea, what shore is this ? 

The gulf, the rock of Salamis ! 

These scenes — their story not unknown — 

Arise, and make again your own ; 

Snatch from the ashes of your sires 

The embers of their former fires, 

And he who in the strife expires 

Will add to theirs a name of fear, 

That Tyranny shall quake to hear, 

And leave his sons a hope, a fame, 

They too will rather die than shame ; 

For Freedom's battle once begun, 

Bequeathed by bleeding Sire to Son, 

Though baffled oft is ever won. 

Bear witness, Greece, thy living page, 

Attest it many a deathless age ! 

While kings, in dusty darkness hid, 

Have left a nameless pyramid, 

Thy heroes, though the general doom 

Hath swept the column from then* tomb, 

A mightier monument command, — 

The mountains of then* native land ! 

There points thy muse to stranger's eye 

The graves of those that cannot die ! 

'T were long to tell, and sad to trace, 

Each step from splendour to disgrace ; 

Enough — no foreign foe could quell 

Thy soul, till from itself it fell ; 

Yes ! Self-abasement paved the way 

To villain-bonds and despot sway. Byron. 



268 EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 



23. — LOVE. 

They sin who tell us love can die ; 

With life all other passions fly, 

All others are but vanity. 

In heaven ambition cannot dwell, 

Nor avarice in the vaults of hell ; 

Earthly these passions, as of earth, 

They perish where they have their birth. 

But love is indestructible ; 

Its holy flame for ever burneth ; 

From heaven it came, to heaven returneth : 

Too oft on earth a troubled guest, 

At times deceived, at times oppressed, 

It here is tried and purified, 

And hath in heaven its perfect rest : 

It soweth here with toil and care, 

But the harvest time of love is there. 

Oh ! when a mother meets on high 

The babe she lost in infancy, 

Hath she not then for pains and fears 

The day of woe, the anxious night 

For all her sorrow, all her tears, 

An overpayment of delight. Southey 



24. ALEXANDER THE GREAT. FROM THE TENTH BOOK 

OF LUC AN' S PHARSALIA. 

Disdaining what his father won before, 
Aspiring still, and restless after more, 
He left his home ; while fortune smoothed his way, 
And o'er the fruitful East enlarged his sway. 
Ked Slaughter marked his progress as he past ; 
The guilty sword laid human nature waste, 



Discoloured Ganges' and Euphrates' flood, 
With Persian this, and that with Indian blood. 
He seemed in terror to the nations sent, 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 269 



The wrath of Heaven, a star of dire portent, 
And shook, like thunder, all the continent ! 



Nor yet content, a navy he provides, 
To seas remote his triumphs now he guides, 
Nor winds nor waves his progress could withstand ; 
Nor Libya's scorching heat, and desert land, 
Nor rolling mountains of collected sand. 
Had Heaven but given him line, he had outrun 
The farthest journey of the setting sun, 
Marched round the poles, and drank discovered Nile 
At his spring-head. — But winged fate the while 
Comes on with speed, the funeral hour draws near : 
Death only could arrest his mad career, 
Who to his grave the world's sole empire bore, 
With the same envy 't was acquired before ; 
And wanting a successor to his reign, 
Left all to suffer conquest once again. Hughes. 



25. THE BATTLE OF HOHENLINDEN. 

On Linden, when the sun was low, 
AH bloodless lay the untrodden snow, 
And dark as winter was the flow 
Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 

But Linden saw another sight, 
When the drum beat, at dead of night, 
Commanding fires of death to light 
The darkness of her scenery. 

By torch and trumpet fast arrayed, 
Each horseman drew his battle-blade, 
And furious every charger neighed, 
To join the dreadful revelry. 

Then shook the hills with thunder riven, 
Then rushed the steed to battle driven, 
And, louder than the bolts of Heaven, 
Far flashed the red artillery. 



270 EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 

But redder yet that light shall glow 
On Linden's hills of stained snow, 
And bloodier yet the torrent flow 
Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 

Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun 
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dim, 
Where furious Frank and fiery Hun 
Shout in their sulphurous canopy. 

The combat deepens. On, ye brave, 
Who rush to glory, or the grave ! 
Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave, 
And charge with all thy chivalry ! 

Few, few shall part where many meet ! 
The snow shall be their winding-sheet ; 
And every turf beneath their feet 
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. 



Campbell. 



26. TABLE TALK. 

When Cromwell fought for power, and while he reigned 

The proud protector of the power he gained, 

Religion harsh, intolerant, austere, 

Parent of manners like herself severe, 

Drew a rough copy of the Christian face, 

Without the smile, the sweetness, or the grace : 

But when the Second Charles assumed the sway, 

And arts revived beneath a softer day, 

Then, like a bow long forced into a curve, 

The mind, released from too constrained a nerve, 

Flew to its first position with a spring, 

That made the vaulted roofs of Pleasure ring. 

His court, the dissolute and hateful school 

Of Wantonness, where vice was taught by rule, 

Swarmed with a scribbling herd, as deep inlaid 

With brutal vice as ever Circe made. 

Nor ceased, till, ever anxious to redress 

The abuses of her sacred charge, the press, 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 271 

The Muse instructed a well-nurtured train 

Of abler votaries to cleanse the stain. 

In front of these came Addison. In him 

Humour in holiday and sightly trim, 

Sublimity and attic taste, combined, 

To polish, furnish, and delight the mind. 

Then Pope, as harmony itself exact, 

In verse well disciplined, complete, compact, 

Gave virtue and morality a grace, 

That, quite eclipsing Pleasure's painted face, 

Levied a tax of wonder and applause, 

Even on the fools that trampled on their laws. 

But he (his musical finesse was such, 

So nice his ear, so delicate his touch) 

Made poetry a mere mechanic art ; 

And every warbler has his tune by heart. 

Nature imparting her satiric gift, 

Her serious mirth, to Arbuthnot and Swift, 

With droll sobriety they raised a smile 

At Folly's cost, themselves unmoved the while. 

Contemporaries all surpassed, see one ; 

Short his career indeed, but ably run ; 

Churchill, himself unconscious of his powers, 

In penury consumed his idle hours ; 

Lifted at length, by dignity of thought 

And dint of genius, to an affluent lot, 

He laid his head in Luxury's soft lap, 

And took, too often, there his easy nap. 

Surly, and slovenly, and bold, and coarse, 

Too proud for art, and trusting in mere force, 

Spendthrift alike of money and of wit, 

Always at speed, and never drawing bit, 

He struck the lyre in such a careless mood, 

And so disdained the rules he understood, 

The laurel seemed to wait on his command, 

He snatched it rudely from the Muses' hand. Cowper. 



1 



272 EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 



27. ODE TO THE DEPARTING YEAR (1795). 

Spirit who sweepest the wild harp of Time ! 

It is most hard, with an untroubled ear 

Thy dark inwoven harmonies to hear ! 
Yet, mine eye fixed on Heaven's unchanging clime, 
Long had I listened, free from mortal fear, 

With inward stillness and submitted mind ; 

When, lo ! its folds far waving on the wind, 
I saw the train of the departing Year ! 

Starting from my silent sadness, 

Then with no unholy madness, 
Ere yet the entered cloud foreclosed my sight, 
I raised the impetuous song, and solemnized his flight. 

Hither, from the recent tomb, 
From the prison's direr gloom, 
From Distemper's midnight anguish ; 
And thence, where Poverty doth waste and languish ; 
Or where, his two bright torches blending, 

Love illumines Manhood's maze ; 
Or where o'er cradled infants bending, 
Hope has fixed her wishful gaze. 
Hither, in perplexed dance, 
Ye Woes ! ye young-eyed Joys ! advance ! 
By Time's wild harp, and by the hand 
Whose indefatigable sweep 
Raises its fateful strings from sleep, 
I bid you haste, a mixed tumultuous band ! 
From every private bower, 

And each domestic hearth, 
Haste for one solemn hour ; 
And with a loud and yet a louder voice, 
O'er Nature struggling in portentous birth, 

Weep and rejoice ! 
Still echoes the dread Name that o'er the earth 
Let slip the storm, and woke the brood of Hell. 

And now advance in saintly jubilee 
Justice and Truth ! They too have heard thy spell ; 
They too obey thy name, divinest Liberty ! 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 2 i 3 

Departing Year ! 'twas on no earthly shore 

My soul beheld thy vision ! Where alone, 

Voiceless and stern, before the cloudy throne, 
Aye Memory sits ; thy robe inscribed with gore, 
With many an unimaginable groan 

Thou storied'st thy sad hours ! Silence ensued, 

Deep silence o'er the ethereal multitude, 
Whose locks with wreaths, whose wreaths with glories shone. 

Then, his eye wild ardours glancing, 

From the choired gods advancing, 
The Spirit of the Earth made reverence meet, 
And stood up, beautiful, before the cloudy seat. 



The voice had ceased, the vision fled ; 
Yet still I gasped and reeled with dread. 
And ever, when the dream of night 
Renews the phantom to my sight, 
Cold sweat-drops gather on my limbs ; 

My ears throb hot ; my eyeballs start ; 
My brain with horrid tumult swims ; 

Wild is the tempest of my heart ; 
And my thick and struggling breath 
Imitates the toil of Death ! 
No stranger agony confounds 

The Soldier on the war-field spread, 
When all foredone with toil and wounds, 

Death-like he dozes among heaps of dead ! 
(The strife is o'er, the day-light fled, 

And the night-wind clamours hoarse ! 
See ! the starting wretch's head, 

Lies pillowed on a brother's corse !) 



Not yet enslaved, not wholly vile, 
Albion ! my mother isle ! 
Thy valleys, fair as Eden's bowers, 
Glitter green with sunny showers ; 
Thy grassy uplands' gentle swells 

Echo to the bleat of flocks ; 
(Those grassy hills, those glittering dells, 

Proudly ramparted with rocks ; ) 
And Ocean, 'mid his uproar wild, 
Speaks safety to his Island Child ! n 



274 EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 

Hence for many a fearless age 
Has social Quiet loved thy shore ; 
Nor ever proud Invader's rage, 
Or sacked thy towers, or stained thy fields with gore. 

Coleridge. 



28. THE NYMPH LAMENTING THE DEATH OF HER FAWN. 

The wanton troopers riding by 

Have shot my fawn, and it will die. 

Ungentle men ! they cannot thrive 

Who killed thee. Thou ne'er didst alive 

Them any harm ; alas ! nor could 

Thy death yet do them any good. 

I 'm sure I never wished them ill ; 

Nor do I for all this ; nor will : 

But if my simple prayers may yet 

Prevail with Heaven to forget 

Thy murder, I will join my tears 

Eather than fail. But, my fears ! 

It cannot die so, Heaven's king 

Keeps register of every thing ; 

And nothing may we use in vain, 

Ev'n beasts must be with justice slain, 

Else men are made their deodands. 

Though they should wash their guilty hands 

In this warm life-blood, which doth part 

From thine, and wound me to the heart, 

Yet could they not be clean ; their stain 

Is dyed in such a purple grain, 

There is not such another in 

The world to offer for their sin. 

With sweetest milk and sugar first, 

I it at mine own fingers nursed ; 

And as it grew, so every day 

It waxed more white and sweet than they. 

It had so sweet a breath ! and oft 

I blushed to see its foot more soft 

And white, shall I say, than my hand ? 

Nay, any lady's of the land. 

It is a wondrous thing how fleet 

'Twas on those little silver feet, 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 275 

With what a pretty skipping grace 

It oft would challenge me the race ; 

And when 't had left me far away, 

'Twould stay, and run again and stay. 

For it was nimbler much than hinds, 

And trod as if on the four winds. 

I have a garden of my own, 

But so with roses overgrown, 

And lilies, that you would it guess 

To be a little wilderness ; 

And all the springtime of the year 

It only loved to be there. 

Among the beds of lilies, I 

Have sought it oft where it should lie, 

Yet could not, till itself would rise, 

Find it, although before mine eyes ; 

For in the flaxen lilies' shade 

It like a bank of lilies laid. 

Upon the roses it would feed, 

Until its lips ev'n seemed to bleed ; 

And then to me 'twould boldly trip, 

And print those roses on my lip ; 

But all its chief delight was still 

On roses thus itself to fill ; 

And its pure virgin limbs to fold 

In whitest sheets of lilies cold. 

Had it lived long it would have been 

Lilies without, roses within. 

Now my sweet fawn is vanished to 

"Whither the swans and turtles go ; 

In fair Elysium to endure 

"With milkwhite lambs and ermines pure. 

Oh ! do not run too fast, for I 

Will but bespeak thy grave and die. Marvell. 



29. — SUING FOR COURT FAVOUR. 

Full little knowest thou, that hast not tried, 
What hell it is in suing long to bide ; 
To lose good days that might be better spent, 
To waste long nights in pensive discontent ; 



276 EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 

To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow, 

To feed on hope, to pine with fear and sorrow, 

To have thy prince's grace, yet want her peers, 

To have thy asking, yet wait many years ; 

To fret thy soul with crosses and with cares, 

To eat thy heart with comfortless despairs, 

To fawn, to crouch, to wait, to ride, to rim, 

To spend, to give, to wait, to be undone. Spenser. 



30. OLD AGE AND DEATH. 

The seas are quiet when the winds give o'er ; 

So cahn are we when passions are no more, 

For then we know how vain it was to boast 

Of fleeting things, too certain to be lost. 

Clouds of affection from our younger eyes 

Conceal the emptiness which age descries. 

The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed. 

Lets in new lights through chinks that time has made ; 

Stronger by weakness, wiser men become, 

As they draw near to their eternal home. 

Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view, 

That stand upon the threshold of the new. Waller, 



31. THE BENEDICITE PARAPHRASED. 

Ye works of God, on him alone, 

In earth his footstool, heaven his throne, 

Be all your praise bestowed ; 
Whose hand the beauteous fabric made, 
Whose eye the finished work surveyed, 

And saw that all was good. 

Ye angels, that with loud acclaim, 
Admiring viewed the new-born frame, 

And hailed the Eternal King, 
Again proclaim your Maker's praise ; 
Again your thankful voices raise, 

And touch the tuneful string. 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 277 

Praise him, ye blessed ethereal plains, 
"Where, in full majesty, he deigns 

To fix his awful throne : 
Ye waters that about him roll 
From orb to orb, from pole to pole, 

make his praises known ! 

Ye mountains, that ambitious rise, 
And heave your summits to the skies, 

Revere his awful nod ; 
Think how you once affrighted fled, 
"When Jordan sought his fountain-head, 

And owned the approaching God. 

Ye sons of men, his praise display, 
Who stampt his image on your clay, 

And gave it power to move : 
Ye that in Judah's confines dwell, 
From age to age successive tell 

The wonders of his love. 

Let Levi's tribe the lay prolong, 
Till angels listen to the song, 

And bend attentive down ; 
Let wonder seize the heavenly train, 
Pleased while they hear a mortal strain 

So sweet, so like their own. Merrick. 



32. CONVERSATION. 

The emphatic speaker dearly loves to oppose, 
In contact inconvenient, nose to nose ; 
As if the gnomon on his neighbour's phiz, 
Touched with the magnet, had attracted his. 
His whispered theme, dilated and at large, 
Proves after all a wind-gun's airy charge. 
He walked abroad, o'ertaken in the rain, 
Called on a friend, drank tea, stepp'd home again, 
Resumed his purpose, had a world of talk 
With one he stumbled on, and lost his walk. 
I interrupt him with a sudden bow, 
Adieu, dear Sir ! lest you should lose it now. 



278 EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 

I cannot talk with civet in the room, 
A fine puss-gentleman that's all perfume ; 
The sight's enough — no need to smell a beau — 
Who thrusts his nose into a raree show ? 
His odoriferous attempts to please 
Perhaps might prosper with a swarm of bees ; 
But we that make no honey, though we sting, 
Poets, are sometimes apt to maul the thing. 

A graver coxcomb we may sometimes see, 
Quite as absurd, though not so light as he ; 
A shallow brain behind a serious mask, 
An oracle within an empty cask, 
The solemn fop ; significant and budge ; 
A fool with judges, amongst fools a judge ; 
He says but little, and that little said 
Owes all its weight, like loaded dice, to lead. 
His wit invites you by his looks to come, 
But when you knock, it never is at home. 
'Tis like a parcel sent you by the stage, 
Some handsome present, as your hopes presage ; 
'Tis heavy, bulky, and bids fair to prove 
An absent friend's fidelity and love ; 
But, when unpacked, your disappointment groans 
To find it stuffed with brickbats, earth, and stones. 

Some men employ their health, an ugly trick, 
In making known how oft they have been sick, 
And give us, in recitals of disease, 
A doctor's trouble, but without the fees ; 
Relate how many weeks they kept their bed, 
How an emetic or cathartic sped ; 
Nothing is slightly touched, much less forgot, 
Nose, ears, and eyes seem present on the spot. 
Now the distemper, spite of draught or pill, 
Victorious seemed, and now the doctor's skill ; 
And now — alas, for unforeseen mishaps ! 
They put on a damp nightcap and relapse ! 
They thought they must have died, they were so bad ; 
Their peevish hearers almost wish they had. Cowper. 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 279 

33. THE TWO OWLS AND THE SPARROW. 

Two formal Owls together sat, 
Conferring thus in solemn chat : 
How is the modern taste decayed ! 
Where's the respect to wisdom paid ? 
Our worth the Grecian sages knew ; 
They gave our sires the honour due : 
They weighed the dignity of fowls, 
And pried into the depth of Owls. 
Athens, the seat of learned fame, 
With general voice revered our name ; 
On merit title was conferred, 
And all adored the Athenian bird. 

Brother, you reason well, replies 
The solemn mate, with half-shut eyes ; 
Right, — Athens was the seat of learning, 
And truly wisdom is discerning. 
Besides, on Pallas' helm we sit, 
The type and ornament of wit ; 
But now, alas ! we're quite neglected, 
And a pert Sparrow's more respected. 

A Sparrow, who was lodged beside, 
O'erhears them soothe each other's pride, 
And thus he nimbly vents his heat : 
Who meets a fool must find conceit. 
I grant you were at Athens graced, 
And on Minerva's helm were placed ; 
But every bird that wings the sky, 
Except the Owl, can tell you why. 
From hence they taught then- schools to know 
How false we judge by outward show ; 
That we should never looks esteem, 
Since fools as wise as you might seem. 
Would ye contempt and scorn avoid, 
Let your vainglory be destroyed : 
Humble your arrogance of thought, 
Pursue the ways by nature taught ; 
So shall you find delicious fare, 
And grateful farmers praise your care. Gay. 



1 



280 EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 



34. COURAGE IN POVERTY. 



In Anna's wars, a soldier, poor and old, 

Had dearly earned a little purse of gold : 

Tired with a tedious march, one luckless night 

He slept, poor dog ! and lost it, every mite. 

This put the man in such a desperate mind, 

Between revenge, and grief, and hunger joined, 

Against the foe, himself, and all mankind, 

He leaped the trenches, scaled a castle-wall, 

Tore down a standard, took the fort and all. 

" Prodigious well ! " his great Commander cried, 

Gave him much praise, and some reward beside. 

Next pleased his Excellence a town to batter ; 

(Its name I know not, and 'tis no great matter), 

" Go on, my friend, (he cried), see yonder walls, 

" Advance and conquer ! go, where glory calls ! 

" More honours, more rewards, attend the brave." 

Don't you remember what reply he gave ? 

" D'ye think me, noble General, such a sot ? 

" Let him take castles who has ne'er a groat." Pope. 



35. PROLOGUE TO CATO J 1713. 

To wake the soul by tender strokes of art • 
To raise the genius, and to mend the heart ; 
To make mankind, in conscious virtue bold, 
Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold : 
For this the tragic muse first trod the stage, 
Commanding tears to stream through every age ; 
Tyrants no more their savage nature kept, 
And foes to virtue wondered how they wept. 
Our author shuns, by vulgar springs, to move — 
The hero's glory, or the virgin's love ; 
In pitying love we but our weakness show, 
And wild ambition well deserves its woe. 
Here tears shall flow from a more generous cause, 
Such tears as patriots shed for dying laws : 
He bids your breasts with ancient ardour rise, 
And calls forth Roman drops from British eyes ; 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. . 281 

Virtue confessed in human shape he draws, 
What Plato thought, and godlike Cato was : 
No common object to your sight displays, 
But what with pleasure heaven itself surveys ; 
A brave man struggling in the storms of fate, 
And greatly falling with a falling state ! 
While Cato gives his little senate laws, 
What bosom beats not in his country's cause ? 
Who sees him act, but envies every deed ? 
Who hears him groan, and does not wish to bleed ? 
Even when proud Caesar, 'midst triumphal cars, 
The spoils of nations, and the pomp of wars, 
Ignobly vain, and impotently great, 
Showed Eome her Cato's figure drawn in state : 
As her dead father's reverend image past, 
The pomp was darkened and the day o'ercast ; 
The triumph ceased — tears gushed from every eye ; 
The world's great victor passed unheeded by ; 
Her last good man dejected Rome adored, 
And honoured Caesar's less than Cato's sword. 

BritoDS, attend : be worth like this approved, 
And show you have the virtue to be moved. 
With honest scorn the first famed Cato viewed 
Rome learning arts from Greece, whom she subdued ; 
Our scene precariously subsists too long 
On French translation and Italian song. 
Dare to have sense yourselves ; assert the stage, 
Be justly warmed with your own native rage : 
Such plays alone should please a British ear, 
As Cato's self had not disdained to hear. Pope. 



36. CHARACTER OF VILLIERS, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 

Some of their chiefs were princes of the land; 
In the first rank of these did Zimri stand ; 
A man so various, that he seemed to be 
Not one but all mankind's epitome ; 
Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong, 
Was every thing by starts and nothing long ; 
But, in the course of one revolving moon, 
Was chemist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon ; 



282 EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 

Blest madman ! who would every hour employ 

With something new to wish or to enjoy. 

Hailing and praising were his usual themes, 

And both, to show his judgment, in extremes. 

In squandering wealth was his peculiar art, 

Nothing went unrewarded but desert ; 

Beggared by fools, whom still he found too late, 

He had his jest, and they had his estate ; 

He laughed himself from court, then sought relief 

By forming parties, but could not be chief. 

For, spite of him, the weight of business fell 

On Absalom and wise Achitophel ; 

Thus wicked but in will, of means bereft, 

He left not faction, but of that was left. Dryden. 



37. CHARACTER OF SHAFTESBURY. 

Of these the false Achitophel was first, 

A name to all succeeding ages curst, 

For close designs and crooked counsels fit, 

Sagacious, bold, and turbulent of wit ; 

Restless, unfixed in principles and place, 

In power unpleased, impatient of disgrace ; 

A fiery soul which working out its way, 

Fretted' the pigmy body to decay, 

And o'erinformed the tenement of clay. 

A daring pilot in extremity, 

Pleased with the danger when the waves went higli 

He sought the storms, but for a calm unfit, 

Would steer too nigh the sands to boast his wit. 

Great wits are sure to madness near allied, 

And thin partitions do their bounds divide. 

In friendship false, implacable in hate, 

Resolved to ruin or to rule the state. 

To compass this the triple bond he broke, 

The pillars of the public safety shook, 

And fitted Israel for a foreign yoke ; 

Then, seized with fear, yet still affecting fame, 

Usurped a patriot's all-atoning name. 

So easy still it proves, in factious times, 

With public zeal to cancel private crimes. 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 283 

How safe is treason, and how sacred ill, 
Where none can sin against the people's will ! 
Where crowds can wink, and no offence be known. 
Since in another's guilt they find their own ! 
Yet fame deserved no enemy can grudge, 
The statesman we abhor, but praise the judge. 
In Israel's courts ne'er sat an Abethdin 
With more discerning eyes, or hands more clean, 
Unbribed, unsought, the wretched to redress, 
Swift of despatch, and easy of access. 
Oh ! had he been content to serve the crown 
With virtues only proper to the gown, 
David for him his tuneful harp had strung, 
And heaven had wanted one immortal song ; 
But wild ambition loves to slide, not stand, 
And fortune's ice prefers to virtue's land. 
Achitophel, grown weary to possess 
A lawful fame and lazy happiness, 
Disdained the golden fruit to gather free, 
And lent the crowd his arm to shake the tree. 

Dryden. 



38. — THE ART OP CRITICISM. 

Tis hard' to say, if greater' want of skill 
Appear in writing', or in judging' ill ; 
But, of the two, less' dangerous is the offence 
To tire' our patience', than mislead' our sense' : 
Some few' in that', but numbers' err in this' ; 
Ten' censure' wrong, for one' who writes' amiss. 
A fool' might once himself' alone expose ; 
Now one' in verse' makes many more' in prose'. 
'Tis with our judgments' as our watches', none 
Go just alike', yet each believes his own'. 
In Poets', as true Genius' is but rare, 
True Taste' as seldom is the Critic's' share : 
Both' must alike from Heaven' derive their light ; 
These' born to judge', as well as those' to write'. 
Let such teach others' who themselves' excel, 
And censure' freely who have written' well. 
Authors' are partial to their wit', 'tis true ; 
But are not Critics' to their judgment' too ? 






284 EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 

Yet, if we look more closely 7 , we shall find 
Most have the seeds' of judgment in their mind : 
Nature affords at least a glimmering' light ; 
The lines, though touched' but faintly, are drawn" right. 
But as the slightest sketch, if justly traced, 
Is by ill- colouring' but the more disgraced', 
So by false learning' is good sense' defaced : 
Some are bewildered in the maze of schools', 
And some made coxcombs' Nature meant for fools'. 
In search of wit' these lose their common sense', 
And then turn Critics' in their own defence'. 
All fools have still an itching to deride', 
And fain would be upon the laughing' side. 
If Msevius scribble' in Apollo's spite, 
There are who judge' still worse than he can write. 
Some have, at first, for Wits', then Poets', past, 
Turned Critics' next, and proved plain Fools' at last. 
Some neither can for Wits' nor Critics' pass, 
As heavy mules' are neither horse' nor ass'. Pope. 



39. HARMONY OF EXPRESSION. 

But most by numbers judge a poet's song ; 

And smooth or rough, with them is right or wrong : 

In the bright Muse though thousand charms conspire, 

Her voice is all these tuneful fools admire ; 

Who hamit Parnassus but to please their ear, 

Not mend their minds ; as some to church repair, 

Not for the doctrine, but the music there : 

These equal syllables alone require, 

Though oft the ear the open vowels tire ; 

While expletives their feeble aid do join, 

And ten low words oft creep in one dull line ; 

While they ring round the same unvaried chimes, 

With sure returns of still expected rhymes : 

Where'er you find " the cooling western breeze," 

In the next line it " whispers through the trees ; " 

If crystal streams " with pleasing murmurs creep," 

The reader's threatened (not in vain) with " sleep :" 

Then, at the last and only couplet, fraught 

With some unmeaning thing they call a thought, 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 285 

A needless Alexandrine ends the song, 
That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along. 
Leave such to tune their own dull rhymes, and know 
What's roundly smooth, or languishingly slow : 
And praise the easy vigour of a line, 
Where Denham's strength and Waller's sweetness join. 
True ease in writing comes from art, not chance ; 
As those move easiest who have learned to dance. 
'Tis not enough no harshness gives offence, 
The sound must seem an echo to the sense : 
Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows, 
And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows ; 
But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, 
The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar. 
When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, 
The line too labours, and the words move slow ; 
Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain, 
Flies o'er the unbending corn, and skims along the main. 

Pope. 

40. ON MAN. 

Let us (since life can little more supply 

Than just to look about us, and to die) 

Expatiate free o'er all this scene of Man : 

A mighty maze ! but not without a plan ; 

A wild, where weeds and flowers promiscuous shoot ; 

Or garden, tempting with forbidden fruit. 

Together let us beat this ample field, 

Try what the open, what the covert yield ! 

The latent tracts, the giddy heights explore, 

Of all who blindly creep, or sightless soar ; 

Eye Nature's walks, shoot Folly as it flies, 

And catch the manners living as they rise ; 

Laugh where we must, be candid where we can ; 

But vindicate the ways of God to Man. 

Say first, of God above, or Man below, 
What can we reason, but from what we know ? 
Of Man, what see we but his station here, 
From which to reason, or to which refer ? 
Through worlds unnumbered though the God be known, 
'Tis ours to trace him only in our own. 






286 EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 

He, who through vast immensity can pierce, 

See worlds on worlds compose one universe, 

Observe how system into system runs, 

What other planets circle other suns, 

What varied being peoples every star, 

May tell why Heaven has made us as we are. 

But of this frame, the bearings and the ties, 

The strong connexions, nice dependencies, 

Gradations just, has thy pervading soul 

Looked through ? or can a part contain the whole ? 

Is the great chain that draws all to agree, 
And drawn supports, upheld by God, or thee ? 
Presumptuous Man ! the reason wouldst thou find, 
Why formed so weak, so little, and so blind? 
First, if thou canst, the harder reason guess, 
Why formed no weaker, blinder, and no less. 
Ask of thy mother Earth, why oaks are made 
Taller and stronger than the weeds they shade ; 
Or ask of yonder argent fields above, 
Why Jove's satellites are less than Jove ? 

Of systems possible, if 'tis confest 
That wisdom infinite must form the best, 
Where all must fall, or not coherent be, 
And all that rises, rise in due degree ; 
Then, in the scale of reasoning life, 'tis plain, 
There must be somewhere such a rank as Man : 
And all the question (wrangle e'er so long) 
Is only this, if God has placed him wrong ? 

Kespecting Man, whatever wrong we call 
May, must be right, as relative to all. 
In human works, though laboured on with pain, 
A thousand movements scarce one purpose gain : 
In God's, one single can its end produce ; 
Yet serves to second too some other use. 
So Man, who here seems principal alone, 
Perhaps acts second to some sphere unknown, 
Touches some wheel, or verges to some goal ; 
Tis but a part we see, and not a whole. 

When the proud steed shall know why Man restrains 
His fiery course, or drives him o'er the plains ; 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 287 

When the dull ox, why now he breaks the clod, 

Is now a victim, and now Egypt's God : 

Then shall Man's pride and dulness comprehend 

His actions', passions', being's use and end ; 

Why doing, suffering, checked, impelled ; and why 

This hour a slave, the next a deity. 

Then say not Man's imperfect, Heaven in fault ; 
Say rather, Man's as perfect as he ought ; 
His knowledge measured to his state and place ; 
His time a moment, and a point his space. Pope. 



41. UNIVERSAL ORDER. 

All are but parts of one stupendous whole, 
Whose body Nature is, and God the soul ; 
That, changed through all, and yet in all the same, 
Great in the earth, as in the ethereal frame ; 
Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, 
Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees ; 
Lives through all life, extends through all extent ; 
Spreads undivided, operates unspent ; 
Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, 
As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart ; 
As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns, 
As the rapt seraph that adores and burns; 
To him no high, no low, no great, no small ; 
He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all. 

Cease then, nor order imperfection name : 
Our proper bliss depends on what we blame. 
Know thy own point : This kind, this due degree 
Of blindness, weakness, Heaven bestows on thee. 
Submit. — In this or any other sphere, 
Secure to be as blest as thou canst bear : 
Safe in the hand of one disposing power, 
Or in the natal, or the mortal hour. 
All nature is but art, unknown to thee ; 
All chance, direction, which thou canst not see ; 
All discord, harmony not understood ; 
All partial evil, universal good ; 
And spite of pride, in erring reason's spite, 
One truth is clear, Whatever is, is right. Pope. 



288 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 



42. CONCLUSION OF THE DUNCIAD. 

She comes ! she comes ! the sable throne behold 

Of Night primeval, and of Chaos old ! 

Before her, Fancy's gilded clouds decay, 

And all its varying rainbows die away. 

Wit shoots in vain its momentary fires, 

The meteor drops, and in a flash expires. 

As one by one, at dread Medea's strain, 

The sickening stars fade off the ethereal plain, 

As Argus' eyes, by Hermes' wand opprest, 

Closed one by one to everlasting rest ; 

Thus, at her felt approach, and secret might, 

Art after Art goes out, and all is night. 

See skulking Truth, to her old cavern fled, 

Mountains of casuistry heaped o'er her head ! 

Philosophy, that leaned on Heaven before, 

Shrinks to her second cause, and is no more. 

Physic of Metaphysic begs defence, 

And Metaphysic calls for aid on Sense ! 

See Mystery to Mathematics fly ! 

In vain ! they gaze, turn giddy, rave, and die. 

Religion, blushing, veils her sacred fires, 

And unawares Morality expires. 

Nor public flame, nor private dares to shine : 

Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine ! 

Lo ! thy dread empire, Chaos ! is restored ; 

Light dies before thy uncreating word ; 

Thy hand, great Anarch ! lets the curtain fall. 

And universal darkness buries all. 



Pope. 



43. — vice and virtue. 

Fools but too oft into the notion fall, 
That Vice or Virtue there is none at all. 
If white and black blend, soften, and unite 
A thousand ways, is there no black or white ? 
Ask your own heart, and nothing is so plain ; 
'Tis to mistake them costs the time and pain. 

Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, 
As, to be hated, needs but to be seen ; 






EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 289 

Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, 

We first endure, then pity, then embrace. 

But where the extreme of Vice, was ne'er agreed : 

Ask where's the north ? at York, 'tis on the Tweed ; 

In Scotland, at the Orcades ; and there, 

At Greenland, Zembla, or I know not where. 

No creature owns it in the first degree, 

But thinks his neighbour farther gone than he ; 

E'en those who dwell beneath its very zone, 

Or never feel the rage or never own : 

What happier natures shrink at with affright, 

The hard inhabitant contends is right. 

Virtuous and vicious every man must be, 
Few in the extreme, but all in the degree ; 
The rogue and fool by fits are fair and wise ; 
And e'en the best, by fits, what they despise. 
'Tis but by parts we follow good or ill ; 
For, Vice or Virtue, self directs it still ; 
Each individual seeks a several goal ; 
But Heaven's great view is one, and that the whole. 

Pope* 



44. THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP. 

What hid'st thou in thy treasure caves and cells, 
Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main ? 

Pale glistening pearls and rainbow-coloured shells, 
Bright things which gleam unrecked of and in vain. 

Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea ! 
We ask not such from thee. 

Yet more, thy depths have more ! What wealth untold, 
Far down, and shining through then* stillness, lies ! 

Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold, 
Won from ten thousand royal argosies, 

Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful mam ! 
Earth claims not these again ! 

Yet more, thy depths have more ! Thy waves have rolled 

Above the cities of a world gone by ! 
Sand hath filled up the palaces of old, 

Seaweed o'ergrown the halls of revelry. 

N 



290 EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 

Dash o'er them Ocean ! in thy scornful play, 
Man yields them to decay. 

Yet more ! thy billows and thy depths have more ! 

High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast, 
They hear not now the booming waters roar — 

The battle-thunders will not break their rest ! 
Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave ! 
Give back the true and brave. 

Give back the lost and lovely ! Those for whom 
The place was kept at board and hearth so long ; 

The prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom, 
And the vain yearning woke 'midst festal song ! 

Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown — 
But all is not thine own ! 

To thee the love of woman hath gone down ; 

Dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's noble head, 
O'er youth's bright locks, and beauty's flowery crown ! 

Yet must thou hear a voice — Restore the dead ! 
Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee ! 
Eestore the Dead, thou Sea ! 

Mrs Hemans. 



45. ADDRESS TO THE NIGHTINGALE. 

As it fell upon a day, 
In the merry month of May, 
Sitting in a pleasant shade, 
Which a grove of myrtles made ; 
Beasts did leap, and birds did sing, 
Trees did grow, and plants did spring ; 
Every thing did banish moan, 
Save the Nightingale alone. 
She, poor bird, as all forlorn, 
Leaned her breast upon a thorn ; 
And there sung the dolefull'st ditty, 
That to hear it was great pity. 
Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry ; 
Teru, teru, by and by. 
That to hear her so complain 
Scarce I could from tears refrain ; 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 291 

For her griefs so lively shown, 

Made me think upon my own. 

Ah ! (thought I) thou mourn'st in vain, 

None take pity on thy pain ; 

Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee. 

Euthless bears, they will not cheer thee. 

King Pandion, he is dead ; 

All thy friends are lapp'd in lead ; 

All thy fellow birds do sing, 

Careless of thy sorrowing ! 

Whilst as fickle Fortune smiled, 

Thou and I were both beguiled. 

Every one that flatters thee, 

Is no friend in misery. 

Words are easy like the wind, 

Faithful friends are hard to find. 

Every man will be thy friend, 

Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend ; 

But if store of crowns be scant, 

No man will supply thy want. 

If that one be prodigal, 

Bountiful they will him call, 

And with such like flattering, 

' Pity but he were a king.' 

If he be addict to vice, 

Quickly him they will entice ; 

But if fortune once do frown, 

Then farewell his great renown ; 

They that fawned on him before 

Use his company no more. 

He that is thy friend .indeed, 

He will help thee in thy need ; 

If thou sorrow, he will weep, 

If thou wake, he cannot sleep > 

Thus of every grief in heart, 

He with thee doth bear a part. 

These are certain signs to know 

Faithful friend from flattering foe. Barnfield. 



292 EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 



46. FROM THE SPIRIT'S EPILOGUE IN COMUS. 

To the Ocean now I fly, 

And those happy climes that lie, 

Where day never shuts his eye, 

Up in the broad fields of the sky. 

There I suck the liquid air, 

All amidst the gardens fair 

Of Hesperus, and his daughters three. 

That sing about the golden tree : 

Along the crisped shades and bowers 

Revels the spruce and jocund spring: 

The graces and the rosy-bosomed hours 

Thither all their bounties bring. 

But now my task is smoothly done, 

I can fly or I can run 

Quickly to the green earth's end, 

Where the bow'd welkin slow doth bend, 

And from thence can soar as soon 

To the corners of the moon. 

Mortals, that would follow me, 

Love Virtue ; she alone is free, 

She can teach you how to climb 

Higher than the sphery chime ; 

Or if Virtue feeble were, 

Heaven itself would stoop to her. Milton. 



47. — EXCELSIOR. 

The shades of night were falling fast, 
As through an Alpine village passed 
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, 
A banner with the strange device, 
Excelsior ! 

His brow was sad ; his eye beneath 
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath, 
And like a silver clarion rung 
The accents of that unknown tongue, 
Excelsior ! 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 293 

i f i 

In happy homes he saw the light 
Of household fires gleam warm and bright ; 
Above, the spectral glaciers shone, 
And from his lips escaped a groan, 
Excelsior ! 

" Try not the pass ! " the old man said, 
" Dark lowers the tempest overhead, 
The roaring torrent is deep and wide ! " 
And loud that clarion voice replied, 
Excelsior ! 

" Beware the pine-tree's withered branch ! 
" Beware the awful avalanche !" 
This was the peasant's last good-night ! 
A voice replied far up the height, 
Excelsior ! 

At break of day, as heavenward 
The pious monks of St Bernard 
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, 
A voice cried through the startled air, 
Excelsior ! 

A traveller, by the faithful hound, 
Half-buried in the snow was found, 
Still grasping in his hand of ice 
That banner, with the strange device 
Excelsior ! 

There in the twilight cold and gray, 
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay, 
And from the sky, serene and far, 
A voice fell, like a falling star, 
Excelsior ! 

H. W. Longfellow. 



48. — FREEDOM. 

Of old sat Freedom on the heights, 
The thunders breaking at her feet ; 
Above her shook the starry lights, 
She heard the torrents meet. 



294 EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 

Within her palace she did rejoice, 
Self-gathered in her prophet-mind, 
But fragments of her mighty voice 
Came rolling on the wind. 

Then stept she down thro 1 town and field 
To mingle with the human race, 
And part by part to man revealed 
The fulness of her face. 

Grave mother of majestic works, 
From her isle-altar gazing down, 
Who, God-like, grasps the triple forks, 
And, King-like, wears the crown. 

Her open eyes desire the truth. 
' The wisdom of a thousand years 
Is in them. May perpetual youth 

Keep dry their light from tears. 

That her fair form may stand and shine, 
Make bright our days and light our dreams, 
Turning to scorn with lips divine 

The falsehood of extremes. Tennyson. 



49. THE VILLAGE PREACHER. 

Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, 
And, still, where many a garden flower grows wild ; 
There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, 
The village preacher's modest mansion rose. 

A man he was to all the country dear, 
And passing rich — with forty pounds a-year. 
Remote from towns he ran his godly race ; 
Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place. 
Unskilful he to fawn or seek for power, 
By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour : 
Far other aims his heart had learned to prize, 
More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. 

His house was known to all the vagrant train ; 
He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain . 
The long-remembered beggar was his guest, 
Whose beard descending swept his aged breast ; 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 295 

The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud, 
Claimed kindred there, and had his claim allowed : 
The broken soldier, kindly bid to stay, 
Sat by his fire, and talked the night away ; 
Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, 
Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won. 
Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow. 
And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; 
Careless their merits or their faults to scan, 
His pity gave ere charity began. 

Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride ; 
And even his failings leaned to virtue's side ; 
But, in his duty prompt, at every call, 
He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all. . 
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries, 
To tempt her new-fledged offspring to the skies, 
He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, 
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. 

Beside the bed, where parting life was laid, 
And sorrow, guilt, and pain by turns dismayed, 
The reverend champion stood. At his control, 
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul : 
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, 
And his last faltering accents whispered praise. 

At church, with meek and unaffected grace, 
His looks adorned the venerable place ; 
Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway, 
And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray. 
The service past, around the pious man, 
With ready zeal each honest rustic ran ; 
Even children followed with endearing wile, 
And plucked his gown to share the good man's smile. 
His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed, 
Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed : 
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given ; 
But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. 
As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, 
Swells from the vale and midway leaves the storm, 
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, 
Eternal sunshine settles on its head. Goldsmith. 



296 EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 



50. THE BEAUTIFUL, BUT STILL AND MELANCHOLY ASPECT OF 

THE ONCE BUSY AND GLORIOUS SHORES OF GREECE. 

He who hath bent him o'er the dead, 

Ere the first day of death is fled ; 

The first dark day of nothingness, 

The last of danger and distress ; 

(Before Decay's effacing fingers 

Have swept the lines where Beauty lingers), 

And marked the mild angelic air — 

The rapture of repose that 's there — 

The fixed yet tender traits that streak 

The languor of the placid cheek, 

And — but for that sad shrouded eye, 

That fires not — wins not — weeps not — now — 
And but for that chill changeless brow, 
Whose touch thrills with mortality, 
And curdles to the gazer's heart, 
As if to him it could impart 
The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon — 
Yes — but for these and these alone, 
Some moments — ay — one treacherous hour, 
He still might doubt the tyrant's power, 
So fair — so calm — so softly sealed 
The first — last look — by death revealed ! 

Such is the aspect of this shore — 
'Tis Greece — but living Greece no more ! 
So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, 
We start — for soul is wanting there. 
Hers is the loveliness in death, 
That parts not quite with parting breath ; 
But beauty, with that fearful bloom, 
That hue which haunts it to the tomb — 
Expression's last receding ray, 
A gilded halo hovering round decay, 
The farewell beam of feeling past away ! 
Spark of that flame — perchance of heavenly birth — 
Which gleams — but warms no more its cherished earth ! 

Byron. 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 297 



51.— FROM THE TRAVELLER. 

Thus, while around the wave-subjected soil 

Impels the native to repeated toil, 

Industrious habits in each bosom reign, 

And industry begets a love of gain. 

Hence all the good from opulence that springs, 

With all those ills superfluous treasure brings, 

Are here displayed. Their much-loved wealth imparts 

Convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts ; 

But view them closer, craft and fraud appear, 

Even liberty itself is bartered here. 

At gold's superior charms all freedom flies, 

The needy sell it, and the rich man buys ; 

A land of tyrants and a den of slaves. 

Here wretches seek dishonourable graves, 

And calmly bent, to servitude conform, 

Dull as their lakes that slumber in the storm. 

Heavens ! how unlike their Belgic sires of old ! 

Rough, poor, content, ungovernably bold ; 

War in each breast, and freedom on each brow ; 

How much unlike the sons of Britain now ! 

Fired at the sound, my genius spreads her wing, 

And flies where Britain courts the western spring ; 

Where lawns extend that scorn Arcadian pride, 

And brighter streams than famed Hydaspes glide. 

There all around the gentlest breezes stray, 

There gentle music melts on every spray ; 

Creation's mildest charms are there combined, 

Extremes are only in the master's mind. 

Stern o'er each bosom Eeason holds her state, 

With daring aims irregularly great ; 

Pride in their port, defiance in their eye, 

I see the lords of human kind pass by ; 

Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band, 

By forms unfashioned, fresh from Nature's hand ; 

Fierce in their native hardiness of soul, 

True to imagined right, above control ; 

While even the peasant boasts these rights to scan, 

And learns to venerate himself as man. Goldsmith. 



298 EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 

52. TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED MASTER, WILLIAM 

SHAKSPEARE, AND WHAT HE HATH LEFT US. 

To draw no envy, Shakspeare, on thy name, 

Am I thus ample to thy book and fame ; 

While I confess thy writings to be such 

As neither man nor Muse can praise too much. 

I therefore will begin : — Soul of the age ! 

The applause, delight, and wonder of our stage ! 

My Shakspeare, rise ! I will not lodge thee by 

Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie 

A little further off to make thee room ; 

Thou art a monument without a tomb, 

And art alive still while thy book doth live, 

And we have wits to read, and praise to give. 

And though thou hadst small Latin and less Greek, 

From thence to honour thee I will not seek 

For names, but call forth thundering iEschylus, 

Euripides, and Sophocles to us, 

Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordova dead, 

To live again, to hear thy buskin tread 

And shake the stage ; or when thy socks were on, 

Leave thee alone for the comparison 

Of all that insolent Greece or haughty Rome 

Sent forth or since did from then ashes come. 

Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to show, 

To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe. 

He was not of an age, but of all time, 

And all the Muses still were in their prime, 

When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm 

Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm. 

Sweet Swan of Avon ! what a sight it were 

To see thee in our water yet appear, 

And make those flights upon the banks of Thames 

That so did take Eliza and our James ! 

But stay, I see thee in the hemisphere 

Advanced, and made a constellation there ! 

Shine forth, thou Star of Poets ! and with rage 

Or influence chide or cheer the drooping stage, 

Which since thy flight from hence hath mourned like night, 

And despairs day, but for thy volume's light. 

Ben Joxson. 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 299 



53. A SHIP SINKING. 



Her giant form, 
O'er wrathful surge, through blackening storm, 
Majestically calm would go 
'Mid the deep darkness white as snow ! 
But gently now the small waves glide 
Like playful lambs o'er a mountain's side. 
So stately her bearing, so proud her array, 
The main she will traverse for ever and aye. 
Many ports will exult at the gleam of her mast ! 
Hush ! hush ! thou vain dreamer ! this hour is her last. 

Five hundred souls in one instant of dread 
Are hurried o'er the deck ; 
And fast the miserable ship 
Becomes a lifeless wreck. 
Her keel hath struck on a hidden rock, 
Her planks are torn asunder, 
And down come her masts with a reeling shock, 
And a hideous crash like thunder. 
Her sails are draggled in the brine 
That gladdened late the skies, 
And her pendant that kissed the fair moonshine 
Down many a fathom lies. 
Her beauteous sides, whose rainbow hues 
Gleamed softly from below, 
And flung a warm and simny flash 
O'er the wreaths of murmuring snow, 
To the coral rocks are hurrying down 
To sleep amid colours as bright as their own. 

Oh ! many a dream was in the ship 
An hour before her death ; 
And sights of home with sighs disturbed 
The sleepers' long-drawn breath. 
Instead of the murmur of the sea, 
The sailor heard the humming tree 
Alive through all its leaves, 
The hum of the spreading sycamore 
That grows before his cottage door, 
And the swallow's song in the eaves. 



300 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 



His arms enclosed a blooming boy, 

Who listened with tears of sorrow and joy 

To the dangers his father had passed ; 

And his wife — by turns she wept and smiled, 

As she looked on the father of her child 

Returned to her heart at last. 

He wakes at the vessel's sudden roll, 

And the rush of waters is in his soul. — 

Now is the ocean's bosom bare, 
Unbroken as the floating air ; 
The ship hath melted quite away, 
Like a struggling dream at break of day. 
No image meets my wandering eye 
But the new-risen sun and the sunny sky. 
Though the night-shades are gone, yet a vapour dull 
Bedims the wave so beautiful ; 
While a low and melancholy moan 
Mourns for the glory that hath flown. Wilson. 



54. — SOLITUDE. 

To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, 

To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, 
Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, 

And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been ; 
To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, 

With the wild flock that never needs a fold ; 
Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean ; 

This is not solitude ; 'tis but to hold 
Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unrolled. 



But 'midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, 

To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess, 
And roam along, the world's tired denizen, 

With none who bless us, none whom we can bles* 
Minions of splendour shrinking from distress ! 

None that, with kindred consciousness endued, 
If we were not, would seem to smile the less 

Of all that flatter'd, follow'd, sought, and sued ; 
This is to be alone ; this, this is solitude ! Byron, 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 301 



55. HAPPINESS THE REWARD OF VIRTUE. 

Bring then these blessings to a strict account, 

Make fair deductions, see to what they 'mount ; 

How much of other each is sure to cost ; 

How each for other oft is wholly lost ; 

How inconsistent greater goods with these ; 

How sometimes life is risked, and always ease ; 

Think, and if still these things thy envy call, 

Say, wouldst thou be the man to whom they fall ? 

To sigh for ribbons, if thou art so silly, 

Mark how they grace Lord Umbra, or Sir Billy ! 

Is yellow dirt the passion of thy life ? 

Look but on Gripus, or on Gripus' wife ! 

If parts allure thee, think how Bacon shined, 

The wisest, brightest, meanest of mankind ! 

Or, ravished with the whistling of a name, 

See Cromwell, damned to everlasting fame ! 

If all united thy ambition call, 

From ancient story learn to scorn them all. 

There, in the rich, the honoured, famed, and great, 

See the false scale of happiness complete ! 

In hearts of kings, or arms of queens who lay, 

How happy those to ruin, these betray : 

Mark by what wretched steps their glory grows, 

From dirt and sea- weed as proud Venice rose ; 

In each how guilt and greatness equal ran, 

And all that raised the hero, sunk the man. 

Alas ! not dazzled with then- noontide ray, 

Compute the morn and evening to the day : 

The whole amount of that enormous fame, 

A tale, that blends their glory with their shame ! 

Know then this truth (enough for man to know), 
Virtue alone is happiness below ! 
The only point where human bliss stands still, 
And tastes the good without the fall to ill ; 
The broadest mirth unfeeling Folly wears, 
Less pleasing far than Virtue's very tears : 
Good, from each object, from each place acquired, 
For ever exercised, yet never tired ; 



302 EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 

Never elated, while one man's oppressed ; 

Never dejected, while another's blest ; 

And where no wants, no wishes can remain, 

Since, but to wish more virtue, is to gain. Pope 



• 



56. — ode on the fate of tyranny. 

Oppression dies ; the Tyrant falls ; 
The golden City bows her walls ! 
Jehovah breaks the Avenger's rod. 

The Son of Wrath, whose ruthless hand 
Hurled Desolation o'er the land, 
Has run his raging race, has closed the scene of blood. 
Chiefs armed around behold their vanquished lord ; 
Nor spread the guardian shield, nor lift the loyal sword. 

He falls, and earth again is free. 

Hark ! at the call of Liberty, 

All Nature lifts the choral song. 

The fir-trees, on the mountain's head, 
Kejoice through all their pomp of shade ; 
The lordly cedars nod on sacred Lebanon. 
Tyrant ! they cry, since thy fell force is broke, 
Our proud heads pierce the skies, nor fear the woodman's stroke. 

Hell, from her gulf profound, 

Rouses at thine approach ; and, all around, 
Her dreadful notes of preparation sound. 

See, at the awful call, 

Her shadowy heroes all, 
Even mighty kings, the heirs of empire wide, 

Rising with solemn state and slow, 

From their sable thrones below, 
Meet, and insult thy pride. 

What, dost thou join our ghostly train, 

A flitting shadow light and vain ? 

Where is thy pomp, thy festive throng, 

Thy revel dance, and wanton song ? 
Proud king ! corruption fastens on thy breast, 
And calls her crawling brood, and bids them share the feast. 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 303 

Lucifer ! thou radiant star, 
Son of the Morn, whose rosy car 
Flamed foremost in the van of day ; 

How art thou fallen, thou King of Light, 
How fallen from thy meridian height ! 
Who saidst the distant poles shall hear me and obey. 
High, o'er the stars, my sapphire throne shall glow, 
And as Jehovah's self, my voice the heavens shall bow. 

He spake, he died : distained with gore, 
Beside yon yawning cavern hoar, 
See where his livid corpse is laid. 
The aged pilgrim, passing by, 
Surveys him long with dubious eye, 
And muses on Ins fate, and shakes his reverend head. 
Just Heavens ! is thus thy pride imperial gone ? 
Is this poor heap of dust the King of Babylon ? 

Is this the man whose nod 

Made the earth tremble ? whose terrific rod 
Levelled her loftiest cities ? Where he trod 

Famine pursued and frowned ; 

Till Nature, groaning round, 
Saw her rich reahns transformed to deserts dry ; 

While at his crowded prison's gate, 

Grasping the keys of fate, 
Stood stern Captivity. 

Vain man ! behold thy righteous doom, 

Behold each neighbouring monarch's tomb ; 
The trophied arch, the breathing bust, 
The laurel shades their sacred dust ; 
While thou, vile outcast, on this hostile plain, 
Moulder'st a vulgar corpse among the vulgar slain. 

No trophied arch, no breathing bust, 
Shall dignify thy trampled dust ; 
No lam-el flourish o'er thy grave. 

For why, proud king ? thy ruthless hand 
Hurled Desolation o'er the land, 
And crushed the subject race, whom kings are born to save , 
Eternal infamy shall blast thy name ; 
And all thy sons shall share their impious father's shame. 



304 EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 

Rise, purple Slaughter ! furious, rise ; 
Unfold the terror of thine eyes ; 
Dart thy vindictive shafts -around ; 
Let no strange land a shade afford, 
No conquered nations call them lord ; 
Nor let their cities rise to curse the goodly ground, 
For thus Jehovah swears ; no name, no son, 
No remnant shall remain of haughty Babylon. 

Thus saith the righteous Lord ; 

My vengeance shall unsheath her flaming sword ; 
O'er all thy realms my fury shall be poured. 

Where yon proud city stood, 

I'll spread the stagnant flood, 
And there the bittern in the sedge shall lurk, 

Moaning with sullen strain ; 

While, sweeping o'er the plain, 
Destruction ends her work. 

Yes, on mine holy mountain's brow, 

I'll crush this proud Assyrian foe. 

The irrevocable word is spoke. 

From Judah's neck the galling yoke 
Spontaneous falls ; she shines with wonted state ; 
Thus by myself I swear, and what I swear is Fate. Mason. 



57. GRONGAR HILL. 

Silent Nymph, with curious eye, 
Who, the purple evening, lie 
On the mountain's lonely van, 
Beyond the noise of busy man, 
Painting fair the form of things, 
While the yellow linnet sings ; 
Or the tuneful nightingale 
Charms the forest with her tale ; 
Come, with all thy various hues, 
Come, and aid thy sister Muse. 
Now while Phoebus riding high, 
Gives lustre to the land and sky, 
Grongar Hill invites my song, 
Draw the landscape bright and strong ; 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 305 

Grongar, in whose mossy cells, 

Sweetly musing Quiet dwells ; 

Grongar, in whose silent shade, 

For the modest Muses made, 

So oft I have, the evening still, 

As the fountain of a rill, 

Sat upon a flowery bed, 

With my hand beneath my head, 

While strayed my eyes o'er Towy's flood, 

Over mead and over wood, 

From house to house, from hill to hill, 

Till Contemplation had her fill. 

Now I gain the mountain's brow, 
What a landscape lies below ! 
No clouds, no vapours intervene ; 
But the gay, the open scene, 
Does the face of Nature show 
In all the hues of heaven's bow ; 
And, swelling to embrace the light, 
Spreads around beneath the sight. 

Below me trees unnumbered rise, 
Beautiful in various dyes : 
The gloomy pine, the poplar blue, 
The yellow beech, the sable yew ; 
The slender fir, that taper grows, 
The sturdy oak with broad-spread boughs ; 
And, beyond the purple grove, 
Haunt of Phillis, queen of love, 
Gaudy as the opening dawn, 
Lies a long and level lawn, 
On which a dark hill, steep and high, 
Holds and charms the wandering eye. 
Deep are his feet in Towy's flood ; 
His sides are clothed with waving wood ; 
And ancient towers crown his brow, 
And cast an awful look below ; 
Whose ragged walls the ivy creeps, 
And with her arms from falling keeps ; 
So both a safety from the wind 
On mutual dependence find. 

'Tis now the raven's bleak abode, 
'Tis now the apartment of the toad ; 



306 EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 

And there the fox securely feeds, 
And there the poisonous adder breeds, 
Concealed in ruins, moss, and weeds ; 
While, ever and anon, there falls 
Huge heaps of hoary mouldered walls. 
Yet time has seen, that lifts the low, 
And level lays the lofty brow, 
Has seen this broken pile complete, 
Big with the vanity of state ; 
But transient is the smile of Fate ! 
A little rule, a little sway, 
A sunbeam in a winter's day, 
Is all the proud and mighty have 
Between the cradle and the grave. 

And see the rivers, how they run, 
Through woods and meads, in shade and sun ! 
Sometimes swift, sometimes slow, 
Wave succeeding wave, they go 
A various journey to the deep, 
Like human life, to endless sleep ! 
Thus is Nature's vesture wrought 
To instruct our wandering thought ; 
Thus she dresses green and gay 
To disperse our cares away. 
Ever charming, ever new, 
When will the landscape tire the view ! 
The fountain's fall, the river's flow, 
The woody valleys, warm and low ; 
The windy summit, wild and high, 
Eoughly rushing on the sky ! 
The pleasant seat, the ruined tower, 
The naked rock, the shady bower, 
The town and village, dome and farm, 
Each gives each a double charm, 
As pearls upon an iEthiop's arm. » 

See, on the mountain's southern side, 
Where the prospect opens wide, 
Where the evening gilds the tide, 
How close and small the hedges lie ! 
What streaks of meadows cross the eye 1 
A step, methinks, may pass the stream, 
So little distant dangers seem ; 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 30.7 

So we mistake the Future's face, 
Eyed through Hope's deluding glass. 
As yon summits, soft and fair, 
Clad in colours of the air, 
Which, to those who journey near, 
Barren, brown, and rough appear ; 
Still we tread the same coarse way ; 
The present's still a cloudy day. 

Oh ! may I with myself agree, 
And never covet what I see ! 
Content me with an humble shade, 
My passions tamed, my wishes laid ; 
For while our wishes wildly roll, 
We banish quiet from the soul ; 
'lis thus the busy beat the air, 
And misers gather wealth and care. 

Now, even now, my joys run high, 
As on the mountain turf I lie ; 
While the wanton Zephyr sings, 
And in the vale perfumes his wings ; 
While the waters murmur deep ; 
While the shepherd charms his sheep ; 
While the birds unbounded fly, 
And with music fill the sky, 
Now, even now, my joys run high. 

Be full, ye courts ! be great who will ; 
Search for peace with all your skill ; 
Open wide the lofty door, 
Seek her on the marble floor : 
Tn vain ye search, she is not there ; 
In vain ye search the domes of Care ! 
Grass and flowers Quiet treads, 
On the meads and mountain heads, 
Along with Pleasure close allied, 
Ever by each other's side ; 
And often, by the murmuring rill, 
Hears the thrush, while all is still, 
Within the groves of Grongar Hill. Dyer. 



308 EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 



58. WORTH MAKES THE MAN. 

What nothing earthly gives or can destroy, 

The soul's calm sunshine and the heartfelt joy, 

Is Virtue's prize ; a better would you fix ? 

Then give Humility a coach and six, 

Justice a conqueror's sword, or Truth a gown, 

Or Public Spirit its great cure — a crown. 

Oh ! fool ! to think God hates the worthy mind, 

The lover and the love of human kind, 

Whose life is healthful, and whose conscience clear, 

Because he wants a thousand pounds a-year. 

Honour and shame from no condition rise, 

Act well your part, there all the honour lies ; 

Fortune in men has some small difference made, 

One flaunts in rags, one flutters in brocade ; 

The cobbler aproned, and the parson gowned, 

The friar hooded, and the monarch crowned. 

" What differ more," you cry, " than crown and cowl ? ' 

I'll tell you, friend — a wise man and a fool. 

You'll find, if once the monarch acts the monk, 

Or, cobbler-like, the parson will be drunk, 

Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow, 

The rest is all but leather and prunella. 

G-o ! if your ancient but ignoble blood 

Has crept through scoundrels ever since the flood, 

Go ! and pretend your family is young, 

Nor own your fathers have been fools so long. 

What can ennoble sots, or slaves, or cowards ? 

Alas ! not all the blood of all the Howards. 



59. ON THE PLAIN OF MARATHON. 

Where'er we tread 'tis haunted, holy ground ; 
No earth of thine is lost in vulgar mould, 
But one vast realm of wonder spreads around, 
And all the Muse's tales seem truly told, 
Till the sense aches with gazing to behold 
The scenes our earliest dreams have dwelt upon : 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 309 

Each hill and dale, each deepening glen and wold 

Defies the power which crushed thy temples gone : 

Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares grey Marathon. 



The sun, the soil, but not the slave, the same ; 
Unchanged in all except its foreign lord — 
Preserves alike its bounds and boundless fame 
The battle-field, where Persia's victim horde 
First bowed beneath the brunt of Hellas' sword, 
As on the morn to distant Glory dear, 
When Marathon became a magic word ; 
Which uttered, to the hearer's eye appear 
The camp, the host, the fight, the conqueror's career, 

The flying Mede, his shaftless broken bow ; 
The fiery Greek, his red pursuing spear ; 
Mountains above, Earth's, Ocean's plain below ; 
Death in the front, Destruction in the rear ! 
Such was the scene — what now remaineth here? 
What sacred trophy marks the hallowed ground, 
Recording Freedom's smile and Asia's tear ? 
The rifled um, the violated mound, 
The dust thy courser's hoof, rude stranger ! spurns around. 

Yet to the remnants of thy splendour past 
Shall pilgrims, pensive, but unwearied, throng ; 
Long shall the voyager, with the Ionian blast, 
Hail the bright clime of battle and of song ; 
Long shall thine annals and immortal tongue 
Fill with thy fame the youth of many a shore ; 
Boast of the aged ! lesson of the young ! 
Which sages venerate and bards adore, 
As Pallas and the Muse unveil their awful lore. 

The parted bosom clings to wonted home, 
If aught that 's kindred cheer the welcome hearth ; 
He that is lonely hither let him roam, 
And gaze complacent on congenial earth. 
Greece is no lightsome land of social mirth ; 
But he whom Sadness sootheth may abide, 
And scarce regret the region of his birth, 
When wandering slow by Delphi's sacred side, 
Or gazing o'er the plains where Greek and Persian died. 

Byron. 



310 EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 



60. THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 

Alp felt his soul become more light 
Beneath the freshness of the night. 
Cool was the silent sky, though calm, 
And bathed his brow with airy balm : 
Behind, the camp — before him lay, 
In many a winding creek and bay 
Lepanto's gulf; and, on the brow, 
Of Delphi's hill, unshaken snow, 
High and eternal, such as shone 
Through thousand summers brightly gone, 
Along the gulf, the mount, the clime ; 
It will not melt, like man, to time : 
Tyrant and slave are swept away, 
Less formed to wear before the ray ; 
But that white veil, the lightest, frailest, 
Which on the mighty mount thou hailest, 
While tower and tree are torn and rent, 
Shines o'er its craggy battlement ; 
In form a peak, in height a cloud, 
In texture like a hovering shroud, 
Thus high by parting Freedom spread, 
As from her fond abode she fled, 
And lingered on the spot, where long 
Her prophet-spirit spake in song. 
Oh ! still her step at moments falters 
O'er withered fields, and ruined altars, 
And fain would wake, in souls too broken, 
By pointing to each glorious token : 
But vain her voice, till better days 
Dawn in those yet remembered rays 
Which shone upon the Persian flying, 
And saw the Spartan smile in dying. 

Not mindless of these mighty times 
Was Alp, despite his flight and crimes ; 
And through this night, as on he wandered, 
And o'er the past and present pondered, 
And thought upon the glorious dead 
Who there in better cause had bled, 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 311 

He felt how faint and feebly dim 

The fame that could accrue to him, 

Who cheered the band, and waved the sword, 

A traitor in a turbaned horde ; 

And led them to the lawless siege, 

Whose best success were sacrilege. 

Not so had those his fancy numbered, 

The chiefs whose dust aroimd him slumbered ; 

Their phalanx marshalled on the plain, 

Whose bulwarks were not then in vain. 

They fell devoted, but undying ; 

The very gale their names seemed sighing : 

The waters murmured of their name ; 

The woods were peopled with their fame ; 

The silent pillar, lone and gray, 

Claimed kindred with then* sacred clay ; 

Their spirits wrapt the dusky mountain, 

Their memory sparkled o'er the fountain, 

The meanest rill, the mightiest river 

Rolled mingling with their fame for ever. 

Despite of every yoke she bears, 

That land is glory's still and theirs ! 

'Tis still a watchword to the earth : 

Wlien man would do a deed of worth 

He points to Greece, and turns to tread, 

So sanctioned, on the tyrant's head : 

He looks to her, and rushes on 

Where life is lost, or freedom won. Byron. 



61. CHRISTIAN AND HIS COMRADES AT OTAHEITE. 

The white man landed ! — need the rest be told ? 
The New World stretched its dusk hand to the Old ; 
Each was to each a marvel, and the tie 
Of wonder warmed to better sympathy. 
Their union grew : the children of the storm 
Found beauty linked with many a dusky form ; 
While these in turn admired the paler glow, 
Which seemed so white in climes that knew no snow. 
The chase, the race, the liberty to roam, 
The soil where every cottage showed a home ; 



312 EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 

The cava feast, the yam, the cocoa's root 

Which bears at once the cup, and milk, and fruit ; 

The bread-tree, which, without the ploughshare, yields 

The unreaped harvest of unfurrowed fields, — 

These, with the luxuries of seas and woods, 

The airy joys of social solitudes, 

Tamed each rude wanderer to the sympathies 

Of those who were more happy, if less wise. 

Here, in this grotto of the wave-worn shore, 

They passed the Tropic's red meridian o'er ; 

Nor long the hours — they never paused o'er time, 

Unbroken by the clock's funereal chime, 

Which deals the daily pittance of our span, 

And points and mocks with iron laugh at man. 

What deemed they of the future or the past ? 

The present, like a tyrant, held them fast : 

Their hour-glass was the sea-sand, and the tide, 

Like her smooth billow, saw their moments glide. — 

And let not this seem strange : the devotee 

Lives not in earth, but in his ecstasy ; 

Around him days and worlds are heedless driven, 

His soul is gone before his dust to heaven. 

Is love less potent ? No — his path is trod. 

Alike uplifted gloriously to God ; 

Or linked to all we know of heaven below, 

The other better self, whose joy or woe 

Is more than ours ; the all-absorbing flame 

Which, kindled by another, grows the same, 

Wrapt in one blaze ; the pure, yet funeral pile, 

Where gentle hearts, like Bramins, sit and smile. 

How often we forget all time, when lone, 

Admiring Nature's universal throne, 

Her woods, her wilds, her waters, the intense 

Eeply of hers to our intelligence ! 

Live not the stars and mountains ? Are the waves 

Without a spirit ? Are the dropping caves 

Without a feeling in their silent tears ? 

No, no ; — they woo and clasp us to their spheres, 

Dissolve this clog and clod of clay before 

Its hour, and merge our soul in the great shore. 

Strip off this fond and false identity ! — 

Who thinks of self, when gazing on the sky ? • 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 313 

I 



And who, though gazing lower, ever thought, 
In the young moments ere the heart is taught 
Time's lesson, of man's baseness or his own ? 



Byron. 



62. SONNET. THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US. 



The world is too much with us ; late and soon, 
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers : 
Little we see in Nature that is ours ; 
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon ! 
The sea that bears her bosom to the moon, 
The winds that will be howling at all hours, 
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers ; 
For this, for every thing, we are out of tune ; 
It moves us not ! Great Heaven ! I'd rather be 
A pagan suckled in a creed outworn, 
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, 
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn ; 
Have sight of Proteus coming from the sea, 
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. 

Wordsworth. 



63. SONNET COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE. 

Earth hath not any thing to show more fair ; 
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by 
A sight so touching in its majesty; 
This city now doth like a garment wear 
The beauty of the morning ; silent, bare, 
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie 
Open unto the fields and to the sky, 
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. 
Never did sun more beautifully steep, 
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill ; 
Ne'er saw I, never felt a calm so deep ! 
The river glideth at his own sweet will ; 
Dear Heaven ! the very houses seem asleep : 
And all that mighty heart is lying still. WORDSWORTH. 

o 



314 



EXTRACTS IN VERSE. 



64. HYMN TO ADVERSITY. 

Daughter of Jove, relentless power. 
Thou tamer of the human breast, 
Whose iron scourge and torturing hour 
The bad affright, afflict the best ! 
Bound in thy adamantine chain, 
The proud are taught to taste of pain, 
And purple tyrants vainly groan, 
-With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. 

When first thy sire to send on earth 
Virtue, his darling child, designed, 
To thee he gave the heavenly birth, 
And bade to form her infant mind. 
Stern rugged nurse ! thy rigid lore 
With patience many a year she bore ; 
What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know, 
And from her own she learned to melt at others' 



woe. 



Scared at thy frowm terrific, fly 
Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood, 
W r ild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy, 
And leave us leisure to be good. 
Light they disperse ; and with them go 
The summer friend, the flattering foe ; 
By vain Prosperity received, 
To her they vow their truth, and are again believed. 

Wisdom, in sable garb arrayed, 
Immersed in rapturous thought profound, 
And Melancholy, silent maid, 
With leaden eye, that loves the ground, 
Still on thy solemn steps attend ; 
Warm Charity, the general friend, 
With Justice, to herself severe, 
And Pity, dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear. 

Oh ! gently on thy suppliant's head, 
Dread Goddess, lay thy chastening hand ! 
Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad, 
Nor circled with the vengeful band, 



EXTRACTS IX VERSE. 315 

(As by the impious thou art seen,) 
With thundering voice and threatening mien, 
With screaming Horror's funeral cry — 
Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty. 

Thy form benign, Goddess, wear, 
Thy milder influence impart ; 
Thy philosophic train be there, 
To soften, not to wound, my heart. 
The generous spark extinct revive ; 
Teach me to love and to forgive ; 
Exact my own defects to scan, 
What others are, to feel ; and know myself a man. 

Gray. 



BLANK VERSE. 



1 . RETIREMENT. 



'Tis pleasant, through the loopholes of retreat, 
To peep at such a world ; to see the stir 
Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd ; 
To hear the roar she sends through all her gates 
At a safe distance, where the dying sound 
Falls a soft murmur on the uninjured ear. 
Thus sitting, and surveying thus at ease 
The globe and its concerns, I seem advanced 
To some secure and more than mortal height, 
That liberates and exempts me from them all. 
It turns submitted to my view, turns round 
With all its generations ; T behold 
The tumult, and am still. The sound of war 
Has lost its terrors ere it reaches me ; 
Grieves, but alarms me not. I mourn the pride 
And avarice, that make man a wolf to man ; 
Hear the faint echo of those brazen throats, 
By which he speaks the language of his heart, 
And sigh, but never tremble at the sound. 
He travels and expatiates, as the bee 



316 EXTRACTS IN BLANK VERSE. 

From flower to flower, so he from land to land ; 

The manners, customs, policy, of all 

Pay contribution, to the store he gleans ; 

He sucks intelligence in every clime, 

And spreads the honey of his deep research 

At his return — a rich repast for me. 

He travels, and I too. I tread his deck, 

Ascend his topmast, through his peering eyes 

Discover countries, with a kindred heart 

Suffer his woes, and share in his escapes ; 

While fancy, like the finger of a clock, 

Runs the great circuit, and is still at home. COWPER. 



2. FROM MILTON'S COMUS. 

Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud 
Turn forth her silver lining on the night ? 
I did not err, there does a sable cloud 
Turn forth her silver lining on the night, 
And casts a gleam over this tufted grove : 
I cannot halloo to my brothers, but 
Such noise as I can make to be heard farthest 
I'll venture ; for my new-enlivened spirits 
Prompt me ; and they perhaps are not far off. 

Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that livest unseen 
Within thy airy shell, 
By slow Meander's margent green, 
And in the violet-embroidered vale, 
Where the love-lorn nightingale 
Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well ; 
Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair 
That likest thy Narcissus are ? 
0, if thou have 
Hid them in some flowery cave, 

Tell me but where, 
Sweet queen of parly, daughter of the sphere ! 
So mayst thou be translated to the skies, 
And give resounding grace to all Heaven's harmonies. 

Comus. Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould 
Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment .? 



EXTRACTS IN BLANK VERSE. 317 

Sure something holy lodges in that breast, 
And with these raptures moves the vocal air 
To testify his hidden residence : 
How sweetly did they float upon the wings 
Of silence, through the empty- vaulted night, 
At every fall smoothing the raven down 
Of darkness till it smiled ! I have oft heard 
My mother Circe with the Syrens three. 
Amidst the flowery-kirtled Naiades, 
Culling their potent herbs and baleful drugs ; 
Who, as they sung, would take the prisoned soul 
And lap it in Elysium : Scylla wept, 
And chid her barking waves into attention, 
And fell Charybdis murmured soft applause • 
Yet they in pleasing slumber lulled the sense, 
And in sweet madness robbed it of itself; 
But such a sacred and home-felt delight, 
Such sober certainty of waking bliss, 
I never heard till now. 



3. ON SLAVERY. 

FOR a lodge in some vast wilderness, 

Some boundless contiguity of shade, 

Where rumour of oppression and deceit, 

Of unsuccessful or successful war, 

Might never reach me more ! My ear is pained, 

My soul is sick with every day's report 

Of wrong and outrage with which earth is filled. 

There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart — 

It does not feel for man ; the natural bond 

Of brotherhood is severed as the flax 

That falls asunder at the touch of fire. 

He finds his fellow guilty of a skin 

Not coloured like his own ; and, having power 

To enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause, 

Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey ! 

Lands intersected by a narrow frith 

Abhor each other. Mountains interposed 

Make enemies of nations, who had else 

Like kindred drops been mingled into one. 



318 EXTRACTS IN BLANK VERSE. 

Thus man devotes his brother, and destroys ; 

And, worse than all, and most to be deplored, 

As human nature's broadest, foulest blot, 

Chains him, and tasks him, and exacts his sweat 

With stripes, that Mercy with a bleeding heart 

Weeps when she sees inflicted on a beast ! 

Then what is man ? And what man, seeing this, 

And having human feelings, does not blush 

And hang his head, to think himself a man ? 

I would not have a slave to till my ground, 

To carry me, to fan me while I sleep, 

And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth 

That sinews bought and sold have ever earned. 

No : dear as freedom is, and in my heart's 

Just estimation prized above all price, 

I had much rather be myself the slave, 

And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him. 

We have no slaves at home— then why abroad ? 

And they themselves, once ferried o'er the wave 

That parts us, are emancipate and loosed. 

Slaves cannot breathe in England ; if their lungs 

Eeceive our air, that moment they are free ; 

They touch our country, and their shackles fall. 

That 's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud 

And jealous of the blessing. Spread it then, 

And let it circulate through every vein 

Of all your empire, that where Britain's power 

Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too. Cowper. 



4. DESPONDENCY REBUKED BY FAME. 

Alas ! what boots it with incessant care 

To tend the homely, slighted, shepherd's trade, 

And strictly meditate the thankless Muse ! 

Fame is the spur which the clear spirit doth raise 

(That last infirmity of noble minds) 

To scorn delights, and live laborious days; 

But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, 

And think to burst out into sudden blaze, 

Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears, 

And slits the thin-spun life. " But not the praise," 



EXTRACTS IN BLANK VERSE. 319 

Phoebus replied, and touched my trembling ears ; 

Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, 

Nor in the glistering foil 

Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies ; 

But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes, 

And perfect witness of all-judging Jove. 

As he pronounces lastly on each deed, 

Of so much fame in heaven expect the meed. Milton. 



O. ADDRESS TO EVENING. 

Come, Evening, once again, season of peace ; 

Return, sweet evening, and continue long ! 

Methinks I see thee in the streaky west. 

With matron step slow moving, while the Night 

Treads on thy sweeping train ; one hand employed 

In letting fall the curtain of repose 

On bird and beast, the other charged for man 

With sweet oblivion of the cares of day : 

Not sumptuously adorned nor needing aid, 

Like homely' featured Night, of clustering gems; 

A star or two just twinkling on thy brow 

Suffices thee ; save that the moon is thine 

No less than hers ; not worn indeed on high 

With ostentatious pageantry, but set 

With modest grandeur in thy purple zone, 

Resplendent less, but of an ampler round. 

Come then, and thou shalt find thy votary calm, 

Or make me so. Composure is thy gift : 

And, whether I devote thy gentle hours 

To books, to music, or the poet's toil, 

I slight thee not, but make thee welcome still. 

Cotvper. 



6. DESCRIPTION OF EVENING. 

Now came still evening on, and twilight gray 
Had in her sober livery all things clad ; 
Silence accompanied ; for beast and bird, 
They to their grassy couch, these to their nests. 



320 EXTRACTS IN BLANK VERSE. 

Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale ; 

She all night long her amorous descant sung ; 

Silence was pleased : now glowed the firmament 

With living sapphires ; Hesperus, that led 

The starry host, rode brightest, till the moon, 

Rising in clouded majesty, at length, 

Apparent queen, unveiled her peerless light, 

And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw. Milton. 



7. PERSEVERANCE. 

Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, 

Wherein he puts alms for Oblivion, 

A great-sized monster of ingratitudes : 

Those scraps are good deeds past ; which are devoured 

As fast as they are made, forgot as soon 

As done : Perseverance, dear my lord, 

Keeps honour bright : To have done, is to hang 

Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail, 

In monumental mockery. Take the instant way ; 

For honour travels in a strait so narrow, 

Where one but goes abreast : Keep then the path ; 

For emulation hath a thousand sons, 

That one by one pursue : If you give way, 

Or hedge aside from the direct forthright, 

Like to an entered tide, they all rush by, 

And leave you hindmost ; — 

Or, like a gallant horse fallen in first rank, 

Lie there for pavement to the abject rear, . 

O'errun and trampled on : Then what they do in present, 

Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours : 

For time is like a fashionable host, 

That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand ; 

And with his arms outstretched, as he would fly, 

Grasps-in the comer : Welcome ever smiles, 

And Farewell goes out sighing. 0, let not Virtue seek 

Remuneration for the thing it was ! For beauty, wit, 

High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service, 

Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all 

To envious and calumniating time. Siiakspeaee. 



EXTRACTS IN BLANK VERSE. 321 



8. FOREST SCENERY. 

(From Alastor, or the Spirit of Solitude.) 

The noonday sun 
Now slione upon the forest, one vast mass 
Of mingling shade, whose brown magnificence 
A narrow vale embosoms. There huge caves, 
Scooped in the dark base of those airy rocks, 
Mocking its moans, respond and roar for ever. 
The meeting boughs and implicated leaves 
Wove twilight o'er the poet's path, as, led 
By love, or dream, or god, or mightier death, 
He sought in nature's dearest haunt some bank, 
Her cradle and his sepulchre. More dark 
And dark the shades accumulate — the oak, 
Expanding its immense and knotty arms, 
Embraces the light beech. The pyramids 
Of the tall cedar overarching frame 
Most solemn domes within, and far below, 
Like clouds suspended in an emerald sky, 
The ash and the acacia floating hang, 
Tremulous and pale. Like restless serpents clothed, 
In rainbow and in fire, the parasites, 
Starred with ten thousand blossoms, flow around 
The gay trunks. Shelley. 



9. THE GOOD PREACHER AND THE CLERICAL COXCOMB. 

Would I describe a preacher, such as Paul, 
Were he on earth, would hear, approve, and own, 
Paul should himself direct me. I would trace 
His master-strokes, and draw from his design. 
I would express him simple, grave, sincere ; 
In doctrine uncorrupt ; in language plain, 
And plain in manner. Decent, solemn, chaste, 
And natural in gesture. Much impressed 
Himself, as conscious of his awful charge, 
And anxious, mainly, that the flock he feeds 
May feel it too. Affectionate in look, 
And tender in address, as well becomes 

o2 



322 EXTRACTS IN BLANK VERSE. 

A messenger of grace to guilty men. 
Behold the picture ! — Is it like ? — Like whom ? 
The things that mount the rostrum with a skip. 
And then skip down again : pronounce a text. 
Cry, hem! and, reading what they never wrote. 
Just fifteen minutes, huddle up their work, 
And with a well-bred whisper close the scene. 

In man or woman, but far most in man, 
And most of all in man that ministers 
And serves the altar, in my soul I loathe 
All affectation : 'tis my perfect scorn ; 
Object of my implacable disgust. 
What ! — will a man play tricks, will he indulge 
A silly fond conceit of his fair form 
And just proportion, fashionable mien 
And pretty face, hi presence of his God ? 
Or will he seek to dazzle me with tropes. 
As with the diamond on his lily hand, 
And play his brilliant parts before my eyes, 
When I am hungry for the bread of life ? 
He mocks his Maker, prostitutes and shames 
His noble office, and, instead of truth, 
Displaying his own beauty, starves his flock. 
Therefore, avaunt ! all attitude and stare, 
And start theatric, practised at the glass. 
I seek divine simplicity in Mm 
Who handles tilings divine ; and all beside, 
Though learned with labour, and though much admired 
By curious eyes and judgments ill-informed, 
To me is odious. Cowper. 



10.— CARDINAL WOLSEY'S SPEECH TO CROMWELL. 

Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear 

Tn all my miseries ; but thou hast forced me 

Out of thy honest truth to play the woman. 

Let 's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me, Cromwell : 

And, — when I am forgotten, as I shall be, 

And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention 

Of me more must be heard of, — say, I taught thee : 

Say, Wolsey, — that once trod the ways of glory, 



EXTRACTS IN BLANK VERSE. 323 

And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, — 

Found thee a way, out of his wrack, to rise in ; 

A sure and safe one, though thy master missed it. 

Mark but my fall, and that that ruined me : 

Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition ; 

By that sin fell the angels ; how can man then, 

The image of his Maker, hope to win by 't ? 

Love thyself last : cherish those hearts that hate thee ; 

Corruption wins not more than honesty. 

Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, 

To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not. 

Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, 

Thy God's, and truth's ; then if thou fall'st, Cromwell, 

Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king ; 

And — Prithee, lead me in : 

There take an inventory of all I have, 

To the last penny ; 'tis the king's : my robe, 

And my integrity to Heaven, is all 

I dare now call mine own. Cromwell, Cromwell, 

Had I but served my God with half the zeal 

I served my king, he would not in mine age 

Have left me naked to mine enemies ! Shakspeare. 



11. HUMAN LIFE. 

Reason thus with life : 
If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing 
That none but fools would keep : a breath thou art, 
Servile to all the skiey influences, 
That dost this habitation, where thou keep'st, 
Hourly afflict : merely, thou art death's fool ; 
For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun, 
And yet runn'st toward him still : Thou art not noble ; 
For all the accommodations that thou bear'st 
Are nursed by baseness : Thou art by no means valiant : 
For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork 
Of a poor worm : Thy best of rest is sleep, 
And that thou oft provok'st ; yet grossly fear'st 
Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself; 
For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains 
That issue out of dust : Happy thou art not : 



324 EXTRACTS IN BLANK VERSE. 

For what thou hast not still thou striv'st to get ; 
And what thou hast, forgett'st : Thou art not certain ; 
For thy complexion shifts to strange effects, 
After the moon : If thou art rich, thou art poor ; 
For, like an ass whose back with ingots bows, 
Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey, 
And death unloads thee : 

Thou hast nor youth, nor age ; 
But, as it were, an after- dinner's sleep, 
Dreaming on both : for all thy blessed youth 
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms 
Of palsied eld ; and when thou art old, and rich, 
Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty, 
To make thy riches pleasant. What 's yet in this, 
That bears the name of life ? Yet in this life 
Lie hid more thousand deaths : yet death we fear, 
That makes these odds all even. Shakspeare 



12. FLATTERY UNWORTHY OF A POET. 

Fie, sir ! fie ! 'tis fulsome. 
Sir, there's a soil fit for that rank weed flattery 
To trail its poisonous and obscene clusters : 
A poet's soul should bear a richer fruitage — 
The aconite grew not in Eden. Thou, 
That thou, with lips tipt with the fire of heaven, 
Th' excursive eye, that in its earth-wide range 
Drinks in the grandeur and the loveliness, 
That breathes along this high- wrought world of man : 
That hast within thee apprehensions strong 
Of all that 's pure and passionless and heavenly — 
That thou, a vapid and a mawkish parasite, 
Shouldst pipe to that witch Fortune's favourites ! 
'Tis coarse — 'tis sickly — 'tis as though the eagle 
Should spread his sail-broad wings to flap a dunghill ; 
As though a pale and withering pestilence 
Should ride the golden chariot of the sun ; 
As one should use the language of the Gods 
To chatter loose and ribald brothelry. Milman's Fazio. 



EXTRACTS IN BLANK VERSE. 325 



13. DESCRIPTION OF ADAM AND EVE. 

Two of far nobler shape, erect and tall, 

Godlike erect, with native honour clad, 

In naked majesty seemed lords of all ; 

And worthy seemed ; for in their looks divine 

The image of their glorious Maker shone, 

Truth, wisdom, sanctitude severe and pure, 

(Severe, but in true filial freedom placed,) 

Whence true authority in men ; though both 

Not equal, as their sex not equal seemed ; 

For contemplation he, and valour formed : 

For softness she, and sweet attractive grace ; 

He, for God only ; she, for God in him : 

His fan* large front, and eye sublime, declared 

Absolute rule ; and hyacmthine locks 

Round from his parted forelock manly hung 

Clustering, but not beneath his shoulders broad : 

She, as a veil, down to the slender waist, 

Her unadorned golden tresses wore 

Dishevelled ; but in wanton ringlets waved, 

As the vine curls her tendrils. Milton. 



14. — satan's remorse. 

Is this the region, this the soil, the clime, — 

Said then the lost Archangel, — this the seat 

That we must change for Heaven? this mournful gloom, 

For that celestial light ? Be it so, since He, 

Who now is sovereign, can dispose, and bid 

What shall be right ! Farthest from him is best, 

Whom reason hath equalled, force hath made supreme 

Above his equals. Farewell, happy fields, 

Where joy for ever dwells ! Hail, horrors ! hail, 

Infernal world ! and thou, profoundest hell, 

Receive thy new possessor ! — one who brings 

A mind not to be changed by place or time : 

The mind is its own place, and in itself 

Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven. 



826 EXTRACTS IN BLANK VERSE. 

What matter where, if I be still the same, 
And what I should be, — all but less than He 
Whom thunder hath made greater ? Here at least 
We shall be free ; the Almighty hath not built 
Here for his envy ; — will not drive us hence : 
Here we may reign secure ; and, in my choice 
To reign is worth ambition, though in hell : 
Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven. 
But wherefore let we then our faithful friends, 
The associates and copartners of our loss, 
Lie thus astonished on the oblivious pool, 
And call them not to share with us their part 
In this unhappy mansion ; or once more, 
With rallied arms, to try what may be yet 
Regained in heaven, or what more lost in hell ? 

So Satan spake, and him Beelzebub 
Thus answered : — Leader of those armies bright, 
Which but the Omnipotent none could have foiled ! 
If once they hear that voice, — their liveliest pledge 
Of hope in fears and dangers, heard so oft 
In worst extremes, and on the perilous edge 
Of battle when it raged, in all assaults 
Their surest signal, — they will soon resume 
New courage and revive ; though now they lie 
Groveling and prostrate on yon lake of fire, 
As we erewhile, astounded and amazed : 
No wonder, fallen such a pernicious height. 

He scarce had ceased, when the superior fiend 
Was moving toward the shore : his ponderous shield, 
Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round, 
Behind him cast : the broad circumference 
Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb 
Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views 
At evening, from the top of Fesole, 
Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, 
Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe. 
His spear, — to equal which the tallest pine, 
Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the mast 
Of some great ammiral, were but a wand, — 
He walked with, to support uneasy steps 
Over the burning marie, — not like those steps 
On heaven's azure : and the torrid clime 



EXTRACTS IN BLANK VERSE. 32" 

Smote on him sore besides, vaulted with fire. 

Nathless he so endured, till on the beach 

Of that inflamed sea he stood, and called 

His legions, angel forms, who lay entranced 

Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks 

In Vallombrosa, where the Etrurian shades, 

High over-arched, imbower. aItlton. 



15.: — AUTUMN EVENING SCENE. 

But see the fading, many-coloured woods, 
Shade deepening over shade, the country round 
Imbrown ; a crowded umbrage, dusk and dun. 
Of every hue, from wan declining green 
To sooty dark. These now the lonesome muse, 
Low-whispering, lead into their leaf-strown walks, 
And give the season in its latest view. 

Meantime, light-shadowing all, a sober calm 
Fleeces unbounded ether ; whose least wave 
Stands tremulous, uncertain where to turn 
The gentle current : while illumined wide. 
The dewy-skirted clouds imbibe the sun, 
And through their lucid veil his softened force 
Shed o'er the peaceful world. Then is the time, 
For those whom virtue and whom nature charm, 
To steal themselves from the degenerate crowd, 
And soar above this little scene of things ; 
To tread low-thoughted vice beneath then- feet ; 
To soothe the throbbing passions into peace, 
And woo lone Quiet in her silent walks. 

Thus solitary, and in pensive guise, 
Oft let me wander o'er the russet mead, 
And through the saddened grove, where scarce is heard 
One dying strain, to cheer the woodman's toil. 
Haply some widowed songster pours his plaint, 
Far, in faint warblings, through the tawny copse. 
YVnile congregated thrushes, linnets, larks, 
And each wild throat, whose artless strains so late 
Swelled all the music of the swarming shades, 
Fobbed of then* tuneful souls, now shivering sit 



328 EXTRACTS IN BLANK VERSE. 

On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock, 
With not a brightness waving o'er their plumes, 
And nought save chattering discord in their note. 

The pale descending year, yet pleasing still, 
A gentler mood inspires ; for now the leaf 
Incessant rustles from the mournful grove, 
Oft startling such as, studious, walk below, 
And slowly circles through the waving air. 
But should a quicker breeze amid the boughs 
Sob, o'er the sky the leafy deluge streams ; 
Till choked, and matted with the dreary shower, 
The forest walks, at every rising gale, 
Eoll wide the withered waste, and whistle bleak. 
Fled is the blasted verdure of the fields, 
And, shrunk into their beds, the flowery race 
Their sunny robes resign. Thomson's Seasons. 



16. ON DEATH. 

Where the prime actors of the last year's scene, 
Their port so proud, their buskin, and their plume ? 
How many sleep, who kept the world awake 
With lustre and with noise ! Has Death proclaimed 
A truce, and hung his sated lance on high? 
'Tis brandished still ; nor shall the present year 
Be more tenacious of her human leaf, 
Or spread of feeble life a thinner fall. 

But needless monuments to wake the thought : 
Life's gayest scenes speak man's mortality, 
Though in a style more florid, full as plain, 
As mausoleums, pyramids, and tombs. 
What are our noblest ornaments, but deaths 
Turned flatterers of life, in paint or marble, 
The well-stained canvass, or the featured stone ? 
Our fathers grace, or rather haunt, the scene : 
Joy peoples her pavilion from the dead. 

Professed diversions ; cannot these escape ? 
Far from it : these present us with a shroud, 
And talk of death, like garlands o'er the grave. 
As some bold plunderers, for buried wealth, 



EXTRACTS IN BLANK YEESE. 329 

We ransack tombs for pastime ; from the dust 
Call up the sleeping hero ; bid him tread 
The scene for our amusement : How like gods 
We sit ; and, wrapped in immortality, 
Shed generous tears on wretches born to die ; 
Their fate deploring, to forget our own ! 

Where is the dust that has not been alive ? 
The spade, the plough, disturb our ancestors : 
From human mould we reap our daily bread. 
The globe around earth's hollow surface shakes, 
And is the ceiling of her sleeping sons. 
O'er devastation we blind revels keep ; 
Whole buried towns support the dancer's heel. 

Nor man alone ; his breathing bust expires ; 
His tomb is mortal : empires die. Where now 
The Roman, Greek ? They stalk, an empty name ! 
Yet few regard them in this useful light, 
Though half our learning is their epitaph. — 
When down thy vale, unlocked by midnight thought, 
That loves to wander in thy sunless realms, 
Death ! I stretch my view, — what visions rise ! 
What triumphs, toils imperial, arts divine, 
In withered laurels glide before my sight ! 
What lengths of far-famed ages, billowed high 
With human agitation, roll along 
In unsubstantial images of air ! 
The melancholy ghosts of dead renown, 
Whispering faint echoes of the world's applause, 
With penitential aspect, as they pass, 
All point at earth, and hiss at human pride, 
The wisdom of the wise and prancings of the great. 

Young. 



17. APOSTROPHE TO NIGHT. 

These thoughts, Night, are thine ; 
From thee they came, like lovers' secret sighs, 
While others slept. So Cynthia, poets feign, 
In shadows veiled, soft, sliding from her sphere, 
Her shepherd cheered, of her enamoured less 
Than I of thee. And art thou still unsung, 



330 EXTRACTS IN BLANK VERSE. 

Beneath whose brow, and by whose aid I sing ? 
Immortal Silence ! where shall I begin ? 
Where end ? or how steal music from the spheres 
To soothe their goddess ? 

majestic Night ! 
Nature's great ancestor ! Day's elder bom, 
And fated to survive the transient sun ! 
By mortals and immortals seen with awe ! 
A starry crown thy raven brow adorns, 
An azure zone thy waist ; clouds, in heaven's loom, 
Wrought through varieties of shape and shade, 
In ample folds of drapery divine, 
Thy flowing mantle form, and heaven throughout 
Voluminously pour thy pompous train. 
Thy gloomy grandeurs — Nature's most august 
Inspiring aspect, claim a grateful verse ; 
And, like a sable curtain starred with gold, 
Drawn o'er my labours past, shall close the scene. 



18. HYMN ON THE SEASONS. 

These, as they change, Almighty Father ! these 
Are but the varied God. The rolling year 
Is full of Thee. Forth in the pleasing Spring 
Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love. 
Wide flush the fields ; the softening air is balm ; 
Echo the mountains round ; the forest smiles ; 
And every sense, and every heart is joy. 
Then comes thy glory in the Summer months, 
With light and heat refulgent. Then thy sun 
Shoots full perfection thro' the swelling year : 
And oft thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks ; 
And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve, 
By brooks and groves, in hollow- whispering gales. 
Thy bounty shines in Autumn unconfined, 
And spreads a common feast for all that lives. 
In Winter awful Thou ! with clouds and storms 
Around Thee thrown, tempest o'er tempest rolled, 
Majestic darkness ! on the whirlwind's wing, 
Riding sublime, Thou bidst the world adore, 
And humblest Nature with thy northern blast. 



EXTRACTS IN BLANK VEKSE. 331 

Nature, attend ! join, every living soul 
Beneath the spacious temple of the sky, 
In adoration join ; and, ardent, raise 
One general song ! To Him, ye vocal gales, 
Breathe soft, whose Spirit in your freshness breathes : 
talk of Him in solitary glooms ! 
Where, o'er the rock, the scarcely -waving pine 
Fills the brown shade with a religious awe. 
And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar, 
Who shake the astonished world, lift high to heaven 
The impetuous song, and say from whom you rage. 
His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills ; 
And let me catch it as I muse along. 
Ye headlong torrents, rapid, and profound ; 
Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze 
Along the vale ; and thou, majestic main, 
A secret world of wonders in thyself, 
Sound His stupendous praise ; whose greater voice 
Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall. 

Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers, 
In mingled clouds to Him, whose sun exalts, 
Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints. 
Ye forests bend, ye harvests wave, to Him ; 
Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart, 
As home he goes beneath the joyous moon. 
Ye that keep watch in heaven, as earth asleep 
Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams, 
Ye constellations, while your angels strike, 
Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre. 
Great source of day ! best image here below 
Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide, 
From world to world, the vital ocean round ; 
On Nature write with every beam His praise. 
The thunder rolls : be hush'd the prostrate world ; 
While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn. 
Bleat out afresh, ye hills : ye mossy rocks, 
Retain the sound : the broad responsive low, 
Ye valleys raise ; for the great Shepherd reigns ; 
And his unsuffering kingdom yet will come. 
Ye woodlands all, awake : a boundless song 
Burst from the groves ! and when the restless day, 
Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep, 



332 EXTRACTS IN BLANK VERSE. 

Sweetest of birds ! sweet Philomela, charm 

The listening shades, and teach the night His praise. 

Ye chief, for whom the whole creation smiles, 
At once the head, the heart, and tongue of all, 
Crown the great hymn ! In swarming cities vast, 
Assembled men to the deep organ join 
The long-resounding voice, oft breaking clear, 
At solemn pauses, through the swelling bass ; 
And, as each mingling flame increases each, 
In one united ardour rise to heaven. 
Or, if you rather choose the rural shade, 
And find a fane in every sacred grove ; 
There let the shepherd's flute, the virgin's lay, 
The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre, 
Still sing the God of Seasons, as they roll. 
For me, when I forget the darling theme, 
Whether the blossom blows, the Summer ray 
Eussets the plain, inspiring Autumn gleams, 
Or Winter rises in the blackening east ; 
Be my tongue mute, may fancy paint no more, 
And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat. 

Should fate command me to the farthest verge 
Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes, 
Rivers unknown to song ; where first the sun 
Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam 
Flames on the Atlantic isles ; 'tis nought to me : 
Since God is ever present, ever felt, 
In the void waste as in the city full ; 
And where He vital breathes there must be joy. 
When even at last the solemn hour shall come, 
And wing my mystic flight to future worlds, 
I cheerful will obey ; there, with new powers, 
Will rising wonders sing : I cannot go 
Where Universal Love not smiles around, 
Sustaining all yon orbs and all their suns ; 
From seeming evil still educing good, 
And better thence again, and better still, 
In infinite progression. But I lose 
Myself in Him, in Light ineffable ! 
Come then, expressive Silence, muse his praise. 

Thomson. 



■H 



DIALOGUES. 



1. — lochiel's warning. 

Wizard. Lochiel, Lochiel ! beware of the day 
When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array ! 
For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, 
And the elans of Culloden are scattered in fight. 
They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown ; 
Wo, wo to the riders that trample them down ! 
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, 
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. 
But hark ! through the fast-flashing lightning of war, 
What steed to the desert flies frantic and far ? 
'Tis thine, oh Glenullin ! whose bride shall await, 
Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate. 
A steed comes at morning : no rider is there ; 
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair. 
Weep, Albin ! to death and captivity led ! 
Oh weep ! but thy tears cannot number the dead : 
For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave, — 
Culloden ! that reeks with the blood of the brave. 

Lochiel. Go, preach to the coward, thou death -telling seer S 
Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, 
Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight, 
This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright. 

Wizard. Ha ! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn ? 
Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn ! 
Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth, 
From his home, in the dark-rolling clouds of the north ? 
Lo ! the death-shot of foeman outspeeding, he rode 
Companionless, bearing destruction abroad ; 
But down let him stoop from his havoc on high ! 
Ah ! home let him speed, — for the spoiler is nigh. 
Why flames the far summit ? Why shoot to the blast 
Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast ? 
'Tis the fire- shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven 
From his eyry, that beacons the darkness of heaven. 
Oh, crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might, 
Whose banners arise on the battlements' height, 



334 DIALOGUE.?. 

Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to bum : 
Return to thy dwelling ! all lonely, return ! 
For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood. 
And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood. 

Lochiel. False Wizard, avaunt ! I have marshalled my clan, 
Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one ! 
They are true to the last of their blood and their breath. 
And like reapers descend to the harvest of death. 
Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock ! 
Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock ! 
But wo to his kindred, and wo to his cause, 
When Albin her claymore indignantly draws ; 
When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, 
Clanronald the dauntless, and Moray the proud, 
All plaided and plumed in their tartan array 

Wizard. Lochiel, Lochiel ! beware of the day ! 

For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, 

But man cannot cover what God would reveal ; 

'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, 

And coming events cast their shadows before. 

I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring 

With the blood-hounds that bark for thy fugitive king ! 

La ! anointed by Heaven with the vials of wrath, 

Behold, where he flies on his desolate path ! 

Now in darkness and billows, he sweeps from my sight : 

Rise, rise ! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight ! 

'Tis finished. Their thunders are hushed on the moors : 

Culloden is lost, and my country deplores ! 

But where is the iron-bound prisoner ? Where ? 

For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. 

Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banished, forlorn, 

Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn ? 

Ah no ! for a darker departure is near ; 

The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier ; 

His death-bell is tolling ! oh ! mercy, dispel 

Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell ! 

Life flutters convulsed in his quivering limbs, 

And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims ! 

Accursed be the fagots that blaze at his feet, 

Where his heart shall be thrown, ere it ceases to beat, 

With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale 

Lochiel. Down, soothless insulter ! I trust not the tale : 



DIALOGUES. 335 

For never shall Albin a destiny meet, 

So black with dishonour, so foul with retreat. 

Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in their gore, 

Like ocean- weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore, 

Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, 

While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, 

Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, 

With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe ! 

And leaving in battle no blot on his name, 

Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame. 

Campbell. 



2. HOTSPUR AND SIS RICHARD VERNON, FROM THE FIRST PART 

OF HENRY THE FOURTH. 

Hot. My cousin Vernon ! welcome, by my soul. 

Ver. Pray Heaven, my news be worth a welcome. Lord. 
The earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong, 
Is marching hitherwards ; with him, prince John. 

Hot. No harm : what more ? 

Ver. And further, I have learned, 

The king himself in person hath set forth, 
Or hitherwards intended speedily, 
With strong and mighty preparation. 

Hot. He shall be welcome too. Where is his son, 
The nimble-footed madcap prince of Wales, 
And his comrades, that daffed the world aside, 
And bid it pass ? 

Ver. All furnished, all in arms. 

All plumed, like estridges that with the wind 
Bated. — like eagles having lately bathed ; 
GUttering in golden coats, like images ; 
As full of spirit as the month of May, 
And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer ; 
Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls. 
I saw young Harry, with his beaver on, 
His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly armed, 
Rise from the ground like feathered Mercury, 
And vaulted with such ease into his seat 
As if an angel dropped down from the clouds, 
To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, 
And witch the world with noble horsemanship. 



336 DIALOGUES. 

Hot No more, no more ; worse than the sun in March, 
This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come ; 
They come like sacrifices in their trim, 
And to the fire-eyed maid of smoky war, 
All hot, and bleeding, will we offer them : 
The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit, 
Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire, 
To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh, 
And yet not ours : — Come, let me take my horse. 
Who is to bear me, like a thunderbolt, 
Against the bosom of the prince of Wales : 
Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse, 
Meet, and ne'er part, till one drop down a corse. — 
0, that Glendower were come ! 

Ver. There is more news : 

I learned in Worcester, as I rode along, 
He cannot draw his power these fourteen days. 

Hot. What may the king's whole battle reach unto ? 

Ver. To thirty thousand. 

Hot. Forty let it be ; 

My father and Glendower being both away, 
The powers of us may serve so great a day. 
Come, let us take a muster speedily : 
Doomsday is near; die all, die merrily. Shakspzark 



3. FEOM THE PLAY OF AS YOU LIKE IT. 

Duhe S. Why, how now, monsieur ! what a life is this, 
That your poor friends must woo your company ? 
What ! you look merrily. 

Jaq. A fool, a fool ! I met a fool i' the forest, 
A motley fool ; a miserable world ! 
As I do live by food, I met a fool, 
Who laid him down and basked him in the sun, 
And railed on lady Fortune in good terms, 
In good set terms, — and yet a motley fool. 
" Good morrow, fool," quoth T : " No, sir," quoth he, 
" Call me not fool, till Heaven hath sent me fortune : " 
And then he drew a dial from his poke : 



DIALOGUES. 337 

And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, 

Says, very wisely, " It is ten o'clock : 

" Tims we may see," quoth he, " how the world wags : 

11 Tis but an hour ago, since it was nine ; 

" And after one hour more, 't will be eleven ; 

" And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe., 

" And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot, 

" And thereby hangs a tale." When I did hear 

The motley fool thus moral on the time, 

My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, 

That fools should be so deep-contemplative ; 

And I did laugh, sans intermission, 

An hour by his dial. — noble fool ! 

A worthy fool ! Motley 's the only wear. 

Duke S. What fool is this ? 

Jaq. worthy fool ! — One that hath been a courtier ; 
And says, if ladies be but young, and fair, 
They have the gift to know it : and in his brain, — 
Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit 
After a voyage, — he hath strange places crammed 
With observation, the which he vents 
In mangled forms : — 0, that I were a fool ! 
I am ambitious for a motley coat. 

Duke S. Thou shalt have one. 

Jaq. It is my only suit : 

Provided, that you weed your better judgments 
Of all opinion that grows rank in them, 
That I am wise. I must have liberty 
Withal, as large a charter as the wind, 
To blow on whom I please ; for so fools have : 
And they that are most galled with my folly, 
They most must laugh : And why, sir, must they so ? 
The why is plain as way to parish church : 
He, that a fool doth very wisely hit, 
Doth very foolishly, although he smart, 
Not to seem senseless of the bob : if not, 
The wise man's folly is anatomized 
Even by the squandering glances of the fool. 
Invest me in my motley ; give me leave 
To speak my mind, and I will through and through 
Cleanse the foul body of the infected world, 
If they will patiently receive my medicine. 

p 



338 DIALOGUES. 

Enter Orlando with his sword drawn. 

Orl. Forbear, and eat no more. 

Jaq. Why, I have eat none yet. 

Orl. Nor shalt not, till necessity be served. 

Jaq. Of what kind should this cock come of? 

Duke S. Art thou thus boldened, man, by thy distress ; 
Or else a rude despiser of good manners, 
That in civility thou seem'st so empty ? 

Orl. You touched my vein at first ; the thorny point 
Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show 
Of smooth civility : yet am I inland bred, 
And know some nurture. But, forbear, I say ; 
He dies, that touches any of this fruit, 
Till I and my affairs are answered. 

Duke S. What would you have ? Your gentleness shall force, 
More than your force move us to gentleness. 

Orl. I almost die for food, and let me have it. 

Duke S. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table. 

Orl. Speak you so gently ? Pardon me, I pray you ; 
I thought that all things had been savage here ; 
And therefore put I on the countenance 
Of stern commandment : But whate'er you are, 
That in this desert inaccessible, 
Under the shade of melancholy boughs, 
Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time ; 
If ever you have looked on better days ; 
If ever been where bells have knolled to church ; 
If ever sat at any good man's feast ; 
If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear, 
And know what 't is to pity, and be pitied ; 
Let gentleness my strong enforcement be : 
In the which hope, I blush, and hide my sword. 

Duke S. True is it that we have seen better days ; 
And have with holy bell been knolled to church ; 
And sat at good men's feasts ; and wiped our eyes 
Of drops that sacred pity hath engendered : 
And therefore sit you down in gentleness, 
And take upon command what help we have, 
That to your wanting may be ministered. 

Orl. Then, but forbear your food a little while, 
Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn, 



sa 



DIALOGUES. 339 

■ 

And give it food. There is an old poor man, 
Who after me hath many a weary step 
Limped in pure love ; till he be first sufficed, 
Oppressed with two weak evils, age and hunger, 
I will not touch a bit. 

Duke S. Go, find him out, 

And we will nothing waste till you return. 

Orl. I thank ye : and be blessed for your good comfort ! 

Duke S. Thou see'st, we are not all alone unhappy : 
This wide and universal theatre 
Presents more woeful pageants than the scene 
Wherein we play in. 

Jaq. All the world's a stage, 

And all the men and women merely players : 
They have their exits, and then entrances ; 
And one man in his time plays many parts, 
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, 
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms : 
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel, 
And shining morning face, creeping like snail 
Unwillingly to school : and then, the lover ; 
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad 
Made to his mistress' eyebrow : then, a soldier ; 
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, 
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, 
Seeking the bubble reputation 
Even in the cannon's mouth : and then, the justice ; 
In fair round belly, with good capon lined, 
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, 
Full of wise saws and modern instances, 
And so he plays his part : The sixth age shifts 
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon ; 
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side ; 
His youthful hose well saved, a world too wide 
For his shrunk shank ; and his big manly voice, 
Turning again towards childish treble, pipes 
And whistles in his sound : Last scene of all, 
That ends this strange eventful history, 
Is second childishness, and mere oblivion ; 
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing. 

Shakspf.are. 



340 DIALOGUES. 



4. CORIOLANUS AND AUFIDIUS. 



Cor. I plainly, Tullus, by your looks perceive 
You disapprove my conduct. 

Auf. I mean not to assail thee with the clamour 
Of loud reproaches and the war of words ; 
But, pride apart, and all that can pervert 
The light of steady reason, here to make 
A candid, fair proposal. 

Cor. Speak, I hear thee. 

Auf. I need not tell thee, that I have performed 
My utmost promise. Thou hast been protected ; 
Hast had thy amplest, most ambitious wish ; 
Thy wounded pride is healed, thy dear revenge 
Completely sated ; and to crown thy fortune, 
At the same time, thy peace with Rome restored. 
Thou art no more a Volscian, but a Roman : 
Return, return ; thy duty calls upon thee 
Still to protect the city thou hast saved ; 
It still may be in danger from our arms : 
Retire : I will take care thou may'st with safety. 

Cor. With safety ? — Heavens ! — and think'st thou Coriolanus 
Will stoop to thee for safety ? — No : my safeguard 

Is in myself, a bosom void of fear. 

0, 'tis an act of cowardice and baseness, 
To seize the very time my hands are fettered 
By the strong chain of former obligation, 
The safe, sure moment to insult me. — Gods ! 
Were I now free, as on that day I was 
When at Corioli I tamed thy pride, 
This had not been. 

Auf. Thou speak'st the truth : it had not. 
0, for that time again ! Propitious gods, 
If you will bless me, grant it ! Know, for that, 
For that dear purpose, I have now proposed 
Thou should' st return : I pray thee, Marcius, do it ; 
And we shall meet again on nobler terms. 

Cor. Till I have cleared my honour in your council. 
And proved before them all, to thy confusion, 
The falsehood of thy charge ; as soon in battle 
I would before thee fly, and howl for mercy, 
As quit the station they've assigned me here. 



. 



DIALOGUES. 341 

Auf. Thou canst not hope acquittal from the Volscians. 

Cor. I do : — Nay, more, expect their approbation, 
Their thanks. I will obtain them such a peace 
As thou durst never ask ; a perfect union 
Of their whole nation with imperial Rome, 
In all her privileges, all her rights ; 
By the just gods, I will. — What would'st thou more ? 

Auf What would I more, proud Roman ? This I would — 
Fire the cursed forest, where these Roman wolves 
Haunt and infest their nobler neighbours roimd them ; 
Extirpate from the bosom of this land 
A false, perfidious people, who, beneath 
The mask of freedom, are a combination 

Against the liberty of human kind ; 

The genuine seed of outlaws and of robbers. 

Cor. The seed of gods. — 'Tis not for thee, vain boaster, — 
'Tis not for such as thou, — so often spared 
By her victorious sword, to speak of Rome, 
But with respect, and awful veneration. — 
Whate'er her blots, whate'er her giddy factions, 
There is more virtue in one single year 
Of Roman story, than your Volscian annals 
Can boast through all their creeping, dark duration. 

Auf. I thank thy rage : — This full displays the traitor. 

Cor. Traitor ! — How now ? 

Auf. Ay, traitor, Marcius. 

Cor. Marcius ! 

Auf Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius : Dost thou think 
I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stolen name, 
Coriolanus, in Corioli? 

You lords, and heads of the state, perfidiously 
He has betrayed your business, and given up, 
For certain drops of salt, your city Rome, — 
I say, your city, — to his wife and mother ; 
Breaking his oath and resolution like 
A twist of rotten silk ; never admitting 
Counsel of the war : but at his nurse's tears 
He whined and roared away your victory ; 
That pages blushed at him, and men of heart 
Looked wondering at each other. 

Cor. Hearest thou, Mars ? 

Auf. Name not the god, thou boy of tears. 



342 DIALOGUE*. 

Cor. Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart 
Too great for what contains it. — Boy ! — 
Cut me to pieces, Volscians ; men and lads, 
Stain all your edges on me. — Boy ! — 
If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there, 
That, like an eagle in a dovecot, I 
Fluttered your Volscians in Corioli ; 
Alone I did it : — Boy ! — But let us part ; 
Lest my rash hand should do a hasty deed 
My cooler thought forbids. 

Anf. I court 
The worst thy sword can do ; while thou from me 
Hast nothing to expect but sore destruction ; 
Quit then this hostile camp : once more I tell thee, 
Thou art not here one single hour in safety. 

Cor. 0, that I had thee in the field, 
With six Aufidiuses, or more, thy tribe, 
To use my lawful sword ! Shakspeare. 



5. MASTER MATTHEW AND BOBADIL. 

Mat. Save you, sir ; save you, captain. 

Bob. Gentle, Master Matthew! Is it you, sir? Please you to 
sit down. 

Mat. Thank you, good captain; you may see I am somewhat 
audacious. 

Bob. Not so, sir. I was requested to supper last night by a 
sort of gallants, where you were wished for, and drank to, I assure 
you. 

Mat. Vouchsafe me^ by whom, good captain ? 

Bob. Marry, by young Wellbred and others. Why, hostess, a 
stool here for this gentleman. 

Mat. No haste, sir ; 'tis very well. 

Bob. It was so late ere we parted last night, I can scarce open my 
eyes yet ; I was but new risen as you came. How passes the day 
abroad, sir ? you can tell. 

Mat. Faith, some half hour to seven. Now, trust me, you have 
an exceeding fine lodging here, very neat, and private ! 

Bob. Ay, sir : I pray you, Master Matthew, in any case, possess 
no gentleman of our acquaintance with notice of my lodging. 



DIALOGUES. 343 

Mat. Who! I, sir? No. 

Bob. Not that I need to care who know it, for the cabin is con- 
venient ; but in regard I would not be too popular and generally 
visited, as some are. 

Mat. True, captain, T conceive you. 

Bob. For, do you see, sir, by the heart of valour in me (except it 
be some peculiar and choice spirits, to whom I am extraordinarily 
engaged, as yourself, or so), T could not extend thus far. 

Mat. 0, sir, I resolve so. 

Bob. I confess I love a cleanly and quiet privacy above all the tu- 
mult and roar of fortune. What new piece have you there ? What ! 
Go by, Hieronymo ! 

Mat. Ay, did you ever see it acted? Is^t not well penned ? 

Bob. Well penned ! I would fain see all the poets of these times 
pen such another play as that was! they'll prate and swagger, 
and keep a stir of art and devices, when (as I am a gentleman), read 
them, they are the most shallow, pitiful, barren fellows that live 
upon the face of the earth again. 

Mat. Indeed; here are a number of fine speeches in this book. 
" eyes, no eyes, but fountains fraught with tears! 1 ' There's a 
conceit ! fountains fraught with tears. " life, no life, but lively 
form of death! " Another, " world, no world, but mass of public 
wrongs!" A third, "Confused and filled with murder and mis- 
deeds ! " A fourth, " 0, the Muses ! " Is 't not excellent ? Is 't not 
simply the best that ever you heard, captain ? Ha ! how do you 
like it? 

Bob. 'T is good. 

Mat. To thee, the purest object to my sense, 

The most refined essence heaven covers, 
Send I these lines, wherein I do commence 
The happy state of turtle-billing lovers. 
If they prove rough, unpolished, harsh, and rude, 
Haste made the waste. Thus mildly I conclude. 

Bob. Nay ; proceed, proceed. Where 's this ? 

Mat. This, sir ? a toy o' mine own, in my nonage ; the infancy 
of my muses ! But when will you come and see my study ? Good 

faith, I can show you some very good things I have done of late 

That boot becomes your leg passing well, captain, methinks. 

Bob. So, so; it's the fashion gentlemen now use. 

Mat. Troth, captain, and now you speak o' the fashion, Master 
Wellbred's elder brother and I are fallen out exceedingly : the 
other day I happened to enter into some discourse of a hanger, 



3U 



DIALOGUES. 



which I assure you, both for fashion and workmanship, was most 
peremptorily beautiful and gentlemanlike ; yet he condemned and 
cried it down for the most pied and ridiculous that ever he saw. 

Bob. 'Squire Downright, the half-brother, was 't not ? 

Mat. Ay, sir, he. 

Bob. Hang him, rook ! he ! why, he has no more judgment than 
a malt horse. By St George, I wonder you 'd lose a thought upon 
such an animal ! the most peremptory absurd clown of Christendom 
this day he is holden. I protest to you, as I am a gentleman and a 
soldier, I ne'er changed words with his like. By his discourse, he 
should eat nothing but hay. He was born for the manger, pannier, 
or packsaddle. He has not so much as a good phrase in his 
stomach, but all old iron and rusty proverbs ! a good commodity 
for some smith to make hobnails of. 

Mat. Ay, and he thinks to carry it away with his manhood still, 
where he comes. He brags he will give me the bastinado, as I 
hear. 

Bob. How ! he the bastinado ! how came he by that word ? 

Mat. Nay, indeed, he said cudgel me : I termed it so, for my 
more grace. 

Bob. That may be : for I was sure it was none of his word. But 
when — when said he so ? 

Mat. Faith, yesterday, they say : a young gallant, a friend of mine, 
told me so. 

Bob. By the foot of Pharaoh, an' 'twere my case now, I should 
send him a chartel presently. The bastinado ! A most proper and 
sufficient dependence warranted by the great Caranza. Come hither, 
you shall chartel him. I'll show you a trick or two you shall kill 
him with at pleasure : the first stoccata, if you will, by this air. 

Mat. Indeed you have absolute knowledge i' the mystery, I have 
heard, sir. 

Bob. Of whom ? Of whom have you heard it, I beseech you ? 

Mat. Troth, I have heard it spoken of divers that you had very 
rare and un-in-one-breath-utterable skill, sir. 

Bob. No, not I ; no skill i' the earth : some small rudiments i' the 
science, as to know my time, distance, or so. I have profest it more 
for noblemen and gentlemen's use than mine own practice, I assure 
you. Hostess, accommodate us with another bedstaff here quickly ; 
lend us another bedstaff; the woman does not understand the words 
of action. Look you, sir, exalt not your point above this state at 
any hand, and let your poniard maintain your defence ; thus (give 
it to the gentleman and leave us) ; so, sir, come on ! Oh, twine your 



DIALOGUES. 345 

body more about, that you may fall to a more sweet, comely, gen- 
tlemanlike guard. So, indifferent. Hollow your body more, sir, 
thus. Now, stand fast on your left leg ; note your distance : keep 
your due proportion of time — 0, you disorder your point most irreg- 
ularly. 

Mat. How is the bearing of it now, sir ? 

Bob. 0, out of measure, ill : a well-experienced hand would pass 
upon you at pleasure. 

Mat. How mean you, sir, pass upon me ? 

Bob. Why, thus, sir, (make a thrust at me ;) come in upon the 
answer, control your point, and make a full career at the body ; the 
best practised gallants of the time name it the passado ; a most 
desperate thrust, believe it ! 

Mat. Well, come on, sir. 

Bob. Why, 3 r ou do not manage your weapon with any facility or 
grace to invite me ! I have no spirit to play with you ; your dearth 
of judgment renders you tedious. 

Mat. But one venue, sir. 

Bob. Venue ! fie, most gross denomination as ever I heard. ! 
the stoccata, while you live, sir, note that ; come, put on your cloak, 
and we '11 go to some private place where you are acquainted, some 
tavern, or so — and have a bit ; I'll send for one of these fencers, and 
he shall breathe you by my direction, and then I will teach you your 
trick ; you shall kill him with it at the first if you please. Why, I 
will learn you by the true judgment of the eye, hand, and foot, any 
enemy's point i' the world. Should your adversary confront you 
with a pistol, 'twere nothing by this hand ; you should by the same 
rule control his bullet in a line, except it were hailshot and spread. 
What money have you about you, Master Matthew ? 

Mat. Faith, I have not past a two shillings, or so. 

Bob. 'Tis somewhat with the least; but, come, we will have a 
bunch of radish and salt to taste our wine ; and a pipe of tobacco 
to close the orifice of the stomach ; and then we '11 call upon 
young Wellbred. Perhaps we shall meet the Coridon, his brother, 
there, and put him to the question. 

Ben Jonson's Every Man in his Humour. 



p2 



346 DIALOGUES. 



6. PALEMON AND ARCITE, CAPTIVES IN GREECE. 

Pal. How do you, noble cousin ? 

Arc. How do you, sir ? 

Pal. Why, strong enough to laugh at misery, 
And bear the chance of war yet. We are prisoners 
I fear for ever, cousin. 

Arc. I believe it ; 
And to that destiny have patiently 
Laid up my hour to come. 

Pal. Oh, cousin Arcite, 
Where is Thebes now? where is our noble country ? 
Where are our friends, and kindred ? Never more 
Must we behold those comforts ; never see 
The hardy youths strive for the games of honour, 
Hung with the painted favours of their ladies, 
Like tall ships under sail ; then start amongst them, 
And, as an east wind, leave them all behind us 
Like lazy clouds, whilst Palemon and Arcite, 
Even in the wagging of a wanton leg, 
Outstript the people's praises, won the garlands, 
Ere they have time to wish them ours. Oh, never 
Shall we two exercise, like twins of Honour, 
Our arms again, and feel our fiery horses 
Like proud seas under us ! Our good swords now, 
(Better the red-eyed God of War ne'er wore) 
Ravished our sides, like age, must run to rust, 
And deck the temples of those gods that hate us ; 
These hands shall never draw them out like lightning, 
To blast whole armies, more ! 

Arc. No, Palemon, 
Those hopes are prisoners with us : Here we are, 
And here the graces of our youth must wither 
Like a too timely spring ;. here Age must find us, 
And, which is heaviest, Palemon, unmarried ; 
No figures of ourselves shall we ere see, 
To glad our age, and like young eagles teach them 
Boldly to gaze against bright arms, and say 
Remember what your fathers were, and conquer. 
The fair-eyed maids shall weep our banishments, 
And in then* songs curse ever-blinded Fortune, 



mmmmm 



DIALOGUES. 347 

Till she for shame see what a wrong she has done 
To Youth and Nature : This is all our world ; 
We shall know nothing here, but one another ; 
Hear nothing, but the clock that tells our woes ; 
The vine shall grow, but we shall never see it ; 
Summer shall come, and with her all delights, 
But dead-cold Winter must inhabit here still ! 

Pal. Tis too true, Arcite ! To our Theban hounds, 
That shook the aged forest with then* echoes, 
No more now must we halloo ; no more shake 
Our pointed javelins, whilst the angry swine 
Flies like a Parthian quiver from our rages, 
Struck with our well-steeled darts ! All valiant uses 
(The food and nourishment of noble minds) 
In us two here shall perish ; we shall die, 
(Which is the curse of honour !) lastly, 
Children of Grief and Ignorance. 

Arc. Yet, cousin, 
Even from the bottom of these miseries, 
From all that fortune can inflict upon us, 
I see two comforts rising, two mere blessings, 
If the gods please to hold here ; a brave patience, 
And the enjoying of our griefs together. 
Whilst Palemon is with me, let me perish 
If I think this our prison ! 

Pal. Certainly, 
'T is a main goodness, cousin, that our fortunes 
Were twined together : 'T is most true, two souls 
Put in two noble bodies, let them suffer 
The gall of hazard, so they grow together, 
Will never sink ; they must not ; say they could, 
A willing man dies sleeping, and all 's done. 

Arc. Shall we make worthy uses of this place, 
That all men hate so much ? 

Pal. How, gentle cousin ? 

Arc. Let 's think this prison a holy sanctuary 
To keep us from corruption of worse men ! 
We are young, and yet desire the ways of Honour ; 
That, liberty and common conversation, 
The poison of pure spirits, might, like women, 
Woo us to wander from. What worthy blessing 
Can, be but our imaginations 



348 DIALOGUES. 

May make it ours ? And here being thus together, 

We are an endless mine to one another ; 

I am your heir, and you are mine ; this place 

Is our inheritance ; no hard oppressor 

Dare take this from us : Here, with a little patience, 

We shall live long, and loving ; no surfeits seek us ; 

The hand of War hurts none here, nor the seas 

Swallow their youth ; were we at liberty, 

A wife might part us lawfully, or business ; 

Quarrels consume us ; envy of ill men 

Crave our acquaintance ; I might sicken, cousin, 

Where you should never know it, and so perish 

Without your noble hand to close mine eyes, 

Or prayers to the gods :. A thousand chances, 

Were we from hence, would sever us. 

Pal. You have made me 
(I thank you, cousin Arcite !) almost wanton 
With my captivity : What a misery 
It is to live abroad, and every where ! 
'T is like a beast methinks ! I find the court here. 
I 'm sure a more content ; and all those pleasures 
That woo the wills of men to vanity, 
I see through now ; and am sufficient 
To tell the world, 't is but a gaudy shadow, 
That old Time, as he passes by, takes with him. 
What had we been, old in the court of Creon, 
WTiere sin is justice, lust and ignorance 
The virtues of the great ones ? Cousin Arcite, 
Had not the loving gods found this place for us, 
We had died as they do, ill old men unwept, 
And had their epitaphs, the people's curses ! 

Beaumont and Fletcher. — The Two Nolle Kinsmen. 



7. THE QUARREL OF BRUTUS AND CASSIUS. 

Cos. That you have wronged me, doth appear in this ; 
You have condemned and noted Lucius Pella, 
For taking bribes here of the Sardians ; 
Wherein my letters, praying on his side, 
Because I knew the man. were slighted of. 



DIALOGUES. 349 

Bru. You wronged yourself, to write in such a case. 

Cas. In such a time as this, it is not meet 
That every nice offence should bear its comment. 
Bru. Yet let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself 
Are much condemned to have an itching palm ; 
To sell and mart your offices for gold 
To undeservers. 

Cas. I an itching palm ? 
You know that you are Brutus that speak this, 
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last. 

Bru. The name of Cassius honours this corruption, 
And chastisement doth therefore hide its head. 

Cas. Chastisement! 

Bru. Remember March, the Ides of March remember ! 
Did not great Julius bleed for Justice' sake ? 
What villain touched his body, that did stab, 
And not for justice ? What, shall one of us, 
That struck the foremost man in all this world, 
But for supporting robbers ; shall we now 
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes ? 
And sell the mighty space of our large honours, 
For so much trash as may be grasped thus ? — 
I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, 
Than such a Roman. 

Cas. Brutus, bay not me, 
I'll not endure it : you forget yourself, 
To hedge me in ; I am a soldier, I, 
Older in practice, abler than yourself 
To make conditions. 

Bru. Go to ; you 're not, Cassius. 

Cas. I am. 

Bru. I say, you are not. 

Cas. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself; 
Have mind upon your health, tempt me no farther. 

Bru. Away, slight man ! 

Cas. Is 't possible ? 

Bru. Hear me, for I will speak. 
Must I give way and room to your rash choler ? 
Shall I be frighted when a madman stares ? 

Cas. ye gods ! ye gods ! must I endure all this ? 

Bru. All this ? ay, more : Fret till your proud heart break ; 
Go, show your slaves how choleric you are, 



350 



DIALOGUES. 



And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge ? 
Must I observe you ? Must I stand and croucli 
Under your testy humour ? By the gods, 
You shall digest the venom of your spleen, 
Though it do split you ; for, from this day forth, 
I ']] use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter, 
When you are waspish. 
Cos. Is it come to this ? 
Bru. You say you are a better soldier : 
Let it appear so ; make your vaunting true, 
And it shall please me well : For mine own part. 
I shall be glad to learn of noble men. 

Cos. You wrong me every way, you wrong me, Brutus ; 
I said, an elder soldier, not a better : 
Did I say better ? 

Bru. If you did, I care not. 

Cos. When Csesar lived, he durst not thus have moved me. 
Bru. Peace, peace; you durst not so have tempted him. 
Cos. I durst not ! 
Bru. No. 

Cos. What ? durst not tempt him ? 
Bru. For your life you durst not. 
Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love : 
I may do that I shall be sorry for. 

Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for. 
There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats ; 
For I am armed so strong in honesty, 
That they pass by me as the idle wind, 
Which I respect not. I did send to you 
For certain sums of gold, which you denied me ; — 
For I can raise no money by vile means : 
By Heaven I had rather coin my heart, 
And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring 
From the hard hands of peasants then- vile trash 
By any indirection. I did send 
To you for gold to pay my legions, 
Which you denied me : was that done like Cassius ? 
Should I have answered Caius Cassius so ? 
When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, 
To lock such rascal counters from his friends. 
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, 
Dash him to pieces ! 



DIALOGUES. 351 

Cas. I denied you not. 

Bru. You did. 

Cas. I did not : — he was but a fool 
That brought my answer back. — Brutus hath rived my heart ; 
A friend should bear his friend's infirmities, 
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. 

Bru. I do not, till you practise them on me. 

Cas. You love me not. 

Bru. I do not like your faults. 

Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. 

Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they do appear 
As huge as high Olympus. 

Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, 
Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, 
For Cassius is aweary of the world : 
Hated by one he loves ; braved by his brother ; 
Checked like a bondman ; all his faults observed, 
Set in a note-book, learned and conned by rote, 
To cast into my teeth. 0, 1 could weep 
My spirit from mine eyes ! — There is my dagger, 
And here my naked breast ; within, a heart 
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold : 
If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth ; 
I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart : 
Strike as thou didst at Caesar ; for I know, 
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better 
Than ever thou lovedst Cassius. 

Bru. Sheathe your dagger : 
Be angry when you will, it shall have scope ; 
Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour. 
Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb, 
That carries anger, as the flint bears fire ; 
Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark, 
And straight is cold again. 

Cas. Hath Cassius lived 
To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, 
When grief, or blood ill-tempered, vexeth him ? 

Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-tempered too. 
Cas. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand. 

Bru. And my heart too. 
Cas. Brutus !— 

Bru. What's the matter? 



352 



DIALOGUES. 



Cos. Have you not love enough to bear with me, 
When that rash humour, which my mother gave me, 
Makes me forgetful ? 

Bru. Yes, Cassius ; and from henceforth, 
When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, 
He '11 think your mother chicles, and leave you so. 

Shakspeaiu: 



8. MARINO FALIERO AND ANGIOLINA. 

Doge. Come hither, child; I would a word with you. 
Your father was my friend ; unequal fortune 
Made him my debtor for some courtesies 
Which bind the good more firmly : when, oppressed 
With his last malady, he willed our union, 
It was not to repay me, long repaid 
Before by his great loyalty in friendship ; 
His object was to place your orphan beauty 
In honourable safety from the perils, 
Which, in this scorpion nest of vice, assail 
A lonely and undowered maid. I did not 
Think with him, but would not oppose the thought 
Which soothed his deathbed. 

Ang. I have not forgotten 

The nobleness with which you bade me speak, 
If my young heart held any preference 
Which would have made me happier ; nor your offer 
To make my dowry equal to the rank 
Of aught in Venice, and forego all claim 
My father's last injunction gave you. 

Doge. Thus, 

'T was not a foolish dotard's vile caprice 
Which made me covetous of girlish beauty, 
And a young bride. For the difference in our years 
You knew it, choosing me, and chose ; I trusted 
Not to my qualities, nor would have faith 
In such, nor outward ornaments of nature, 
W r ere I still in my five and twentieth spring , 
I trusted to the blood of Loredano 
Pure in your veins ; I trusted to the soul 
God gave you — to the truths your father taught you- 



DIALOGUES. 353 

To your belief in Heaven — to your mild virtues — 
To your own faith and honour, for my own. 

Ang. You have done well. — I thank you for that trust, 
Which I have never for one moment ceased 
To honour you the more for. 

Doge. Where is honour, 

Innate and precept-strengthened, 't is the rock 
Of faith connubial : where it is not — where 
Light thoughts are lurking, or the vanities 
Of worldly pleasure rankle in the heart, 
Or sensual throbs convulse it, well I know 
'T were hopeless for humanity to dream 
Of honesty in such infected blood, 
Although 't were wed to him it covets most : 
An incarnation of the poet's god 
In all his marble chisell'd beauty, or 
The demi-deity, Alcides, in 
His majesty of superhuman manhood, 
W r ould not suffice to bind where virtue is not ; 
It is consistency which forms and proves it : 
Vice cannot fix, and virtue cannot change. 
For vice must have variety, while virtue 
Stands like the sun, and all which rolls around 
Drinks life, and light, and glory from her aspect. 

Ang. And seeing, feeling thus this truth in others, 
(I pray you pardon me ;) but wherefore yield you 
To the most fierce of fatal passions, and 
Disquiet your great thoughts with restless hate 
Of such a thing as Steno ? 

Doge. You mistake me. 

It is not Steno who could move me thus ; 
Had it been so, he should — but let that pass. 

Ang. What is 't you feel so deeply then even now ? 

Doge. The violated majesty of Venice, 
At once insulted in her lord and laws. 

Ang. But he has been condemned into captivity. 

Doge. For such as him a dungeon were acquittal ; 
And his brief term of mock-arrest will pass 
Within a palace. But I 've done with him ; 
The rest must be with you. 

Ang. With me, my lord ? 

Doge. Yes, Angiolina. Do not marvel : I 



354 DIALOGUES. 

Have let this prey upon me till I feel 

My life can not be long ; and fain would have you 

Regard the injunctions you will find within 

This scroll. — Fear not ; they are for your advantage : 

Eead them hereafter at the fitting hour. 

Ang. My lord, in life, and after life, you shall 
Be honoured still by me : but may your days 
Be many yet — and happier than the present ! 
This passion will give way, and you will be 
Serene, and what you should be— what you were. 

Doge. I will be what I should be, or be nothing ! 
But never more — oh ! never, never more, 
O'er the few days or hours which yet await 
The blighted old age of Faliero, shall 
Sweet quiet shed her sunset ! Never more 
Those summer shadows rising from the past 
Of a not ill-spent nor inglorious life, 
Mellowing the last hours as the night approaches, 
Shall soothe me to my moment of long rest. 
. I had but little more to ask, or hope, 

Save the regards due to the blood and sweat, 
And the soul's labour through which I had toiled 
To make my country honoured. As her servant — 
Her servant, though her chief — I would have gone 
Down to my fathers with a name serene 
And pure as theirs ; but this has been denied me. — 
Would I had died at Zara ! 

Ang. Eemember what you were. 

Doge. It were in vain ! 

Joy's recollection is no longer joy, 
While Sorrow's memory is a sorrow still. 

Ang. At least, whate'er may urge, let me implore 
That you will take some little pause of rest : 
Your sleep for many nights has been so turbid, 
That it had been relief to have awaked you, 
Had I not hoped that Nature would o'erpower 
At length the thoughts which shook your slumbers thus. 
An hour of rest will give you to your toils 
With fitter thoughts and freshened strength. 

Doge. I cannot — 

I must not, if I could ; for never was 
Such reason to be watchful : yet a few — 



DIALOGUES. 355 

Yet a few days and dream-perturbed nights, 

And I shall slumber well — but where ? — no matter. 

Adieu, my Angiolina. 

Aug. Let me be 

An instant — yet an instant your companion ! 
I cannot bear to leave you thus. 

Doge. Come then, 

My gentle child — forgive me ; thou wert made 
For better fortunes than to share in mine, 
Now darkling in their close toward the deep vale 
Where Death sits robed in his all-sweeping shadow. 
When I am gone — it may be sooner than 
Even these years warrant, for there is that stirring 
Within — above — around, that in this city 
Will make the cemeteries populous 
As e'er they were by pestilence or war, — 
When I am nothing, let that which I was 
Be still sometimes a name on thy sweet lips, 
A shadow in thy fancy, of a thing 
Which would not have thee mourn it, but remember ; — 
Let us begone, my child — the time is pressing. Byron. 



9. HESPERUS AND FLORIBEL, FROM THE BRIDE'S TRAGEDY. 

Hes. See, here 's a bower 

Of eglantine with honeysuckles woven, 
Where not a spark of prying light creeps in, 
So closely do the sweets enfold each other. 

'T is Twilight's home So ! I 've a rival here ; 

What 's this that sleeps so sweetly on your neck ? 

Flor. Jealous so soon, my Hesperus ? Look then. 
It is a bunch of flowers I pulled for you : 
Here 's the blue violet, like Pandora's eye, 
When first it darkened with immortal life. 

Hes. Sweet as thy lips. Fie on those taper fingers, 
Have they been brushing the long grass aside, 
To drag the daisy from its hiding-place, 
Where it shims light, the Danae of flowers, 
With gold uphoarded on its virgin lap ? 

Flor. And here 's a treasure that I found by chance, 
A lily of the valley ; low it lay 



»»—..■ 



356 DIALOGUES. 

Over a mossy mound, withered and weeping, 
As on a fairy's grave. 

Hes. Of all the posy 

Give me the rose, though there 'a a tale of blood 
Soiling its name. In elfin annals old 
'T is writ, how Zephyr, envious of his love, 
(The love he bare to Summer, who since then 
Has weeping visited the world,) once found 
The baby Perfume cradled in a violet ; 
The felon winds, confederate with him, 
Bound the sweet slumberer with golden chains 
Pulled from the wreathed laburnum, and together 
Deep cast him in the bosom of a rose, 
And fed the fettered wretch with dew and air. Beddoes. 



10. HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE. 

And. Too daring prince ! — Ah ! whither dost thou run ? 
Ah ! too forgetful of thy wife and son ! 
And think'st thou not how wretched we shall be ? 
A widow I, a helpless orphan he ! 
For sure such courage length of life denies ; 
And thus must fall, thy virtue's sacrifice. 

Hec. Andromache ! my soul's far better part, 
Why with untimely sorrow heaves thy heart ? 
No hostile hand can antedate my doom, 
Till fate condemn me to the silent tomb. 

And. Greece in her single heroes strove in vain : 
Now hosts oppose thee — and thou must be slain. 
Oh ! grant me, gods ! ere Hector meets his doom, 
All I can ask of Heaven — an early tomb ! 
So shall my days in one sad tenor run, 
And end with sorrows as they first begun. 
No parent now remains my griefs to share, 
No father's aid, no mother's tender care ; 
Yet, while my Hector still survives, I see 
My father, mother, brethren, all in thee ! 
Alas ! my parents, brethren, kindred, all 
Once more will perish, if my Hector fall 
Thy wife, thy infant, in thy dangers share — 
Oh ! prove a husband's and a parent's care. 



DIALOGUES. 357 

Hec. My early youth was bred to warlike pains ; 
My soul impels me to the martial plains. 
Still foremost let me stand to guard the throne, 
To save my father's honours and my own. 

And. That quarter most the skilful Greeks annoy. 
Where yon wild fig-trees join the wall of Troy : 
Thou from this tower defend the important post ; 
There Agamemnon points his dreadful host : 
Thrice our bold foes the fierce attack have given, 
Or led by hopes, or dictated from Heaven. 
Let others in the field their arms employ ; 
But stay, my Hector, here, and guard his Troy. 

Hec. How would the sons of Troy, in arms renowned, 
And Troy's proud dames, whose garments sweep the ground. 
Attaint the lustre of my former name, 
Should Hector basely quit the field of fame ! 
No more — but hasten to thy tasks at home ; 
There guide the spindle and direct the loom. 
Me glory summons to the martial scene ; 
The field of combat is the sphere for men. 

Hec. [Solus.] Yet come it will ; the day decreed by fates ! 
(How my heart trembles while my tongue relates !) 
The day, when thou, imperial Troy ! must bend, 
Must see thy warriors fall, thy glories end. 
And yet, no dire presage so wounds my mind, 
My mother's death, the ruin of my kind, 
Nor Priam's hoary hairs denied with gore, 
Not all my brothers gasping on the shore, 
As thine, Andromache !— Thy griefs I dread ! 
I see thee trembling, weeping, captive led. — 
May I lie cold before that dreadful day, 
Pressed with a load of monumental clay ; 
Thy Hector, wrapt in everlasting sleep, 
Shall neither hear thee sigh, nor see thee weep. 

Pope's Homer's Iliad. 



11.— CATO'S SENATE. 

Cato. Fathers, we once again are met in council, 
Caesar's approach has summoned us together, 
And Rome attends her fate from our resolves. 



358 DIALOGUES. 

How shall we treat this bold aspiring man ? 
Success still follows him, and backs his crimes. 
Pharsalia gave him Rome : Egypt has since 
Received his yoke, and the whole Nile is Csesar's. 
Why should I mention Juba's overthrow, 
And Scipio's death? Numidia's burning sands 
Still smoke with blood. 'T is time we should decree 
What course to take. Our foe advances on us, 
And envies us even Libya's sultry deserts. 
Fathers, pronounce your thoughts : are they still fixed 
To hold it out and fight it to the last ? 
Or are your hearts subdued at length, and wrought 
By time and ill success to a submission ? 
Sempronius, speak. 

Sempronius. My voice is still for war. 
Gods ! can a Roman senate long debate 
Which of the two to choose, slavery or death ? 
No ; let us rise at once, gird on our swords, 
And, at the head of our remaining troops, 
Attack the foe, break through the thick array 
Of his thronged legions, and charge home upon him. 
Perhaps some arm, more lucky than the rest, 
May reach his heart, and free the world from bondage. 
Rise, fathers, rise ! 't is Rome demands your help ; 
Rise, and revenge her slaughtered citizens, 
Or share their fate ! the corpse of half her senate 
Manure the fields of Thessaly, while we 
Sit here deliberating in cold debates 
If we should sacrifice our lives to honour, 
Or wear them out in servitude and chains. 
Rouse up, for shame ! our brothers of Pharsalia 
Point at thek wounds, and cry aloud — To battle ! 
Great Pompey's shade complains that we are slow, 
And Scipio's ghost walks unrevenged amongst us ! 

Cato. Let not a torrent of impetuous zeal 
Transport thee thus beyond the bounds of reason : 
True fortitude is seen in great exploits 
That justice warrants, and that wisdom guides : 
All else is towering frenzy and distraction. 
Are not the lives of those who draw the sword 
In Rome's defence intrusted to our care ? 
Should we thus lead them to a field of slaughter 



DIALOGUES. 359 

Might not the impartial world with reason say, 
We lavished at our deaths the blood of thousands, 
To grace our fall, and make our ruin glorious ? 
Lucius, we next would know what 's your opinion. 

Lucius. My thoughts, I must comfess, are turned on peace. 
Already have our quarrels rilled the world 
With widows and with orphans : Scythia mourns 
Our guilty wars, and earth's remotest regions 
Lie half-unpeopled by the feuds of Rome : 
'T is time to sheathe the sword, and spare mankind. 
It is not Csesar, but the gods, my fathers, 
The gods declare against us, and repel 
Our vain attempts. To urge the foe to battle, 
(Prompted by blind revenge and wild despair,) 
"Were to refuse the awards of Providence, 
And not to rest in Heaven's determination. 
Already have we shown our love to Rome ; 
Now let us show submission to the gods. 
We took up arms, not to revenge ourselves, 
But free the commonwealth ; when this end fails. 
Arms have no further use : our country's cause, 
That drew our swords, now wrests them from our hands, 
And bids us not delight in Roman blood, 
Unprofitably shed : what men could do 
Is done already : heaven and earth will witness, 
If Rome must fall, that we are innocent. 

Semp. This smooth discourse, and mild behaviour, oft 
Conceal a traitor — Something whispers me 
All is not right — Cato, beware of Lucius. 

Cato. Let us appear nor rash nor diffident : 
Immoderate valour swells into a fault ; 
And fear, admitted into public councils, 
Betrays like treason. Let us shun them both. 
Fathers, I cannot see that our affairs 
Are grown thus desperate : we have bulwarks round us ; 
Within our walls are troops inured to toil 
In Afric's heats, and seasoned to the sun ; 
Numidia's spacious kingdom lies behind us, 
Ready to rise at its young prince's call. 
While there is hope, do not distrust the gods ; 
But wait at least till Caesar's near approach 
Force us to yield. 'Twill never be too late 



360 DIALOGUES. 

To sue for chains, and own a conqueror. 

Why should Rome fall a moment ere her time ? 

No, let us draw her term of freedom out 

In its full length, and spin it to the last. 

So shall we gain still one day's liberty ; 

And let me perish, but in Cato's judgment' 

A day, an hour, of virtuous liberty, 

Is worth a whole eternity of bondage. Addison. 



SPEECHES. 



1. SPEECH OF HENRY V. TO HIS SOLDIERS AT THE SIEGE 

OF HARFLEUR. 

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more : 

Or close the wall up with our English dead ! 

In peace, there 's nothing so becomes a man 

As modest stillness and humility : 

But when the blast of war blows in our ears, 

Then imitate the action of the tiger ; 

Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, 

Disguise fair nature with hard-favoured rage : 

Then lend the eye a terrible aspect ; 

Let it pry through the portage of the head, 

Like the brass cannon. 

Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide ; 

Hold heard the breath, and bend up every spirit 

To its full height ! On, on, you noblest English, 

Whose blood is fetched from fathers of war proof! 

Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders, 

Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought, 

And sheathed their swords for lack of argument. 

I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, 

Straining upon the start. The game 's afoot ; 

Follow your spirit : and upon this charge, 

Cry — God for Harry ! England ! and St George ! 

Shakspeare. 



speeches. 361 



2. — zanga's reasons for hating alonzo. 

'T is twice five years since that great man 

(Great let me call him, for he conquered me) 

Made me the captive of his arm in fight. 

He slew my father, and threw chains o'er me, 

While I with pious rage pursued revenge. 

I then was young ; he placed me near his person, 

And thought me not dishonoured by his service. 

One day (may that returning day be night, 

The stain, the curse, of each succeeding year !) 

For something, or for nothing, in his pride 

He struck me : (while I tell it, do I live ?) 

He smote me on the cheek — I did not stab him, 

For that were poor revenge. — E'er since, his folly 

Hath striven to bury it beneath a heap 

Of kindnesses, and thinks it is forgot. 

Insolent thought ! and like a second blow ! 

Has the dark adder venom ? So have I 

When trod upon. Proud Spaniard, thou shalt feel me ! 

By nightly march he purposed to surprise 

The Moorish camp ; but I have taken care 

They shall be ready to receive his favour. 

Failing in this, a cast of utmost moment, 

Would darken all the conquests he has won. — 

Be propitious, Mahomet, on this important hour, 

And give at length my famished soul revenge ! Young. 



3. FALCONBRIDGE TO KING JOHN. 

All Kent hath yielded ; nothing there holds out 
But Dover Castle ; London hath received, 
Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers : 
Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone 
To offer service to your enemy ; 
And wild amazement hurries up and down 
The little number of your doubtful friends. 
But wherefore do you droop ? why look you sad ? 
Be great hi act, as you have been in thought ; 
Let not the world see fear, and sad distrust, 



362 SPEECHES. 

Govern the motions of a kingly eye : 

Be stirring as the time ; be fire with fire ; 

Threaten the threatencr, and outface the brow 

Of bragging horror : so shall inferior eyes, 

That borrow their behaviours from the great, 

Grow great by your example, and put on 

The dauntless spirit of resolution. 

Away ; and glister like the god of war, 

When he intendeth to become the field : 

Show boldness and aspiring confidence. 

What, shall they seek the lion in his den, 

And fright him there ? and make him tremble there ? 

0, let it not be said ! Forage, and run 

To meet displeasure further from the doors ; 

And grapple with him ere he come so nigh. 

Shakspeare . 



4. MARINO FALIERO TO THE CONSPIRATORS. 

You see me here, 
As one of you hath said, an old, unarmed, 
Defenceless man ; and yesterday you saw me 
Presiding in the hall of ducal state, 
Apparent sovereign of our hundred isles, 
Robed in official purple, dealing out 
The edicts of a power which is not mine, 
Nor yours, but of our masters — the patricians. 
Why I was there you know, or think you know ; 
Why I am here, he who hath been most wronged, 
He who among you hath been most insulted, 
Outraged, and trodden on, until he doubt 
If he be worm or no, may answer for me, 
Asking of his own heart, what brought him here ? 
You know my recent story, all men know it, 
And judge of it far differently from those 
Who sate in judgment to heap scorn on scorn. 
But spare me the recital — it is here, 
Here at my heart the outrage — but my words, 
Already spent in unavailing plaints, 
Would only show my feebleness the more, 
And I come here to strengthen even the strong, 



SPEECHES. 363 

And urge them on to deeds, and not to war 
With woman's weapon ; but I need not urge you. 
Our private wrongs have sprung from public vices, 
In this — I cannot call it commonwealth 
Nor kingdom, which hath neither prince nor people, 
But all the sins of the old Spartan state 
Without its Virtues — temperance and valour. 

You are met 
To overthrow this monster of a state, 
This mockery of a government, this spectre, 
Which must be exorcised with blood, — and then 
We will renew the times of truth and justice, 
Condensing in a fair free commonwealth 
Not rash equality but equal rights, 
Proportioned like the columns to the temple, 
Giving and taking strength reciprocal, 
And making firm the whole with grace and beauty, 
So that no part could be removed without 
Infringement of the general symmetry. 
Haply had I been what the senate sought, 
A thing of robes and trinkets — they had ne'er 
Fostered the wretch who stung me. What I suffer 
Has reached me through my pity for the people ; 
That many know, and they who know not yet 
Will one day learn : meantime, I do devote, 
Whate'er the issue, my last days of life — 
My present power such as it is — not that 
Of Doge, but of a man who has been great 
Before he was degraded to a Doge, 
And still has individual means and mind ; 
I stake my fame (and I had fame) — my breath — 
(The least of all, for its last hours are nigh) 
My heart — my hope — my soul — upon this cast ! 
Such as I am, I offer me to you 
And to your chiefs, accept me or reject me, 
A prince who fain would be a citizen 
Or nothing, and who has left his throne to be so. 

Byron's Doge of Venice. 



364 



SPEECHES. 



5. HENRY V.'S SPEECH AT AGINCOURT. 

What's he that wishes more men from England? 

My cousin Westmoreland ? — No, my fair cousin : 

If we are marked to die, we are enow 

To do our country loss ; and if to live, 

The fewer men, the greater share of honour. 

No, no, my lord, wish not a man from England : 

Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, throughout my host, 

That he who hath no stomach to this fight 

May straight depart ; his passport shall be made, 

And crowns for convoy put into his purse : 

We would not die in that man's company. 

This day is called the feast of Crispian : 

He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, 

Will stand a-tiptoe when this day is named, 

And rouse him at the name of Crispian. 

He that outlives this day, and sees old age, 

Will, yearly on the vigil, feast his neighbours, 

And say — to-morrow is Saint Crispian : 

Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars. 

Old men forget, yet shall not all forget, 

But they '11 remember, with advantages, 

What feats they did that day. Then shall our names, 

Familiar in their mouths as household-words, — 

Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter, 

Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Grlos'ter, — 

Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered : 

This story shall the good man teach his son ; 

And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, 

From this time to the ending of the world, 

But we in it shall be remembered ; 

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers : 

For he, to-day, that sheds his blood with me, 

Shall be my brother ; be he e'er so vile, 

This day shall gentle his condition ; 

And gentlemen in England, now a-bed, 

Shall think themselves accursed they were not here ; 

And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks 

That fought with us upon Saint Crispian's day. 

Shakspeare. 



SPEECHES. 365 

6. — RICHARD II. TO SIR STEPHEN SCROOP ON RECEIVING THE 
NEWS OF THE REVOLT OF HIS SUBJECTS. 

Too well, too well, thou tell'st a tale so ill. 

AYhere is the Earl of Wiltshire ? where is Bagot ? 

What is become of Bushy ? where is Green ? 

That they have let the dangerous enemy 

Measure our confines with such peaceful steps ? 

I warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke. 

Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man ! 

Snakes, in my heart-blood warmed, that sting my heart ! 

Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas ! 

Would they make peace ? terrible hell make war 

Upon their spotted souls for this offence ! 

— Of comfort no man speak ; 
Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; 
Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes 
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. 
Let 's choose executors and talk of wills : 
And yet not so, — for what can we bequeath, 
Save our deposed bodies to the ground ? 
Our lands, our lives, and all, are Bolingbroke's, 
And nothing can we call our own but death ; 
And that small model of the barren earth 
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. 
For heaven's sake, let us sit upon the ground, 
And tell sad stories of the death of kings : — 
How some have been deposed ; some slain in war ; 
Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed : 
Some poisoned by their wives, some sleeping kill'd ; • 
All murdered : For within the hollow crown 
That rounds the mortal temples of a king, 
Keeps Death his court ; and there the antic sits, 
Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp, — 
Allowing him a breath, a little scene 
To monarchize, be feared, and kill with looks ; 
Infusing him with self and vain conceit. — 
As if this flesh, which walls about our life, 
Were brass impregnable, — and, humoured thus, 
Comes at the last, and with a little pin 
Bores through his castle walls, and — farewell king ! 
Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood 



366 SPEECHES. 

With solemn reverence ; throw away respect. 

Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty, 

For you have but mistook me all this while : 

I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief, 

Need friends : — Subjected thus, 

How can you say to me — I am a king? Shakspeake. 



7. HOW DOUGLAS LEARNED THE ART OF WAR. 

Beneath a mountain's brow, the most remote 

And inaccessible by shepherds trod, 

In a deep cave, dug by no mortal hand, 

A hermit lived ; a melancholy man, 

Who was the wonder of our wandering swains. 

Austere and lonely, cruel to himself, 

Did they report him ; the cold earth his bed, 

Water his drink, his food the shepherds' alms. 

I went to see him, and my heart was touched 

With reverence and with pity. Mild he spake, 

And, entering on discourse, such stories told, 

As made me oft revisit his sad cell : 

For he had been a soldier in his youth ; 

And fought in famous battles, when the peers 

Of Europe, by the bold Godfredo led, 

Against the usurping infidel displayed 

The blessed cross, and won the Holy Land. 

Pleased with my admiration, and the fire 

His speech struck from me, the old man would shake 

His years away, and act his young encounters. 

Then, having showed his wounds, he 'd sit him down. 

And all the livelong day discourse of war. 

To help my fancy, in the smooth green turf, 

He cut the figures of the marshalled host : 

Described the motions and explained the use 

Of the deep column and the lengthened line. 

The square, the crescent, and the phalanx firm : 

For all that Saracen or Christian knew 

Of war's vast art was to this hermit known. 

Unhappy man ! 
Returning homewards by Messina's port, 
Loaded with wealth and honours bravely won. 



SPEECHES. 367 

A rude and boisterous captain of the sea 
Fastened a quarrel on him. Fierce they fought : 
The stranger fell ; and with his dying breath 
Declared his name and lineage. Mighty God ! 
The soldier cried, my brother ! Oh ! my brother ! 

— They exchanged forgiveness, 
And happy, in my mind, was he that died ; 
For many deaths has the survivor suffered. 
In the wild desert on a rock he sits, 
Or on some nameless stream's untrodden banks, 
And ruminates all day his dreadful fate. 
At times, alas ! not in his perfect mind, 
Holds dialogues with his loved brother's ghost ; 
And oft, each night, forsakes his sullen couch 
To make sad orisons for him he slew. Home. 



8. — Othello's apology. 

Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors, 

My very noble and approved good masters ; 

That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, 

It is most true ; true, I have married her ; 

The very head and front of my offending 

Hath this extent ; no more. Eude am I in speech, 

And little blessed with the set phrase of peace ; 

For, since these arms of mine had seven years' pith, 

Till now, some nine moons wasted, they have used 

Their dearest action in the tented field ; 

And little of this great world can I speak, 

More than pertains to feats of broils and battles ; 

And therefore little shall I grace my cause 

In speakmg for myself. Yet, by your patience, 

I will a round unvarnished tale deliver 

Of my whole course of love ; what drugs, what charms. 

What conjuration, and what mighty magic, 

(For such proceedings I am charged withal) 

I won his daughter with. — 

Her father loved me, oft invited me, 
Still questioned me the story of my life, 
From year to year ; the battles, sieges, fortunes, 
That I have past. 



3G8 SPEECHES. 

I ran it through, even from my boyish days 

To the very moment that he bade me tell it. 

Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances ; 

Of moving accidents by flood and field ; 

Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly breach ; 

Of being taken by the insolent foe 

And sold to slavery ; of my redemption thence, 

And with it all my travel's history ; 

Wherein of antres vast, and deserts wild, 

Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven, 

It was my hint to speak. — All these to hear 

Would Desdemona seriously incline : 

But still the house-affairs would draw her thence, 

Which ever as she could with haste despatch, 

She 'd come again, and with a greedy ear 

Devour up my discourse : which I observing. 

Took once a pliant hour, and found good means 

To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart, 

That I would all my pilgrimage dilate ; 

Whereof by parcels she had something heard, 

But not distinctively. I did consent, 

And often did beguile her of her tears, 

When I did speak of some distressful stroke 

That my youth suffered. My story being done, 

She gave me for my pains a world of sighs : 

She said, 'twas strange, indeed, 'twas passing strange ; 

'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful 

She wished she had not heard it — yet she wished 

That Heaven had made her such a man ; she thanked me, 

And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her, 

I should but teach him how to tell my story, 

And that would woo her. On this hint I spake : 

She loved me for the dangers I had past ; 

And I loved her, that she did pity them. 

This only is the witchcraft I have used. Shakspeaee. 



9. CASSIUS AGAINST C^SAK. 

I cannot tell what you and other men 
Think of this life ; but for my single self, 
I had as lief not be, as live to be 



SPEECHES. 369 

In awe of such a thing as I myself. 

I was born free as Caesar ; so were you : 

We both have fed as well ; and we can both 

Endure the winter's cold as well as he. 

For once, upon a raw and gusty day, 

The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores, 

Caesar said to me, Darest thou, Cassius, now 

Leap in with me into this angry flood, 

And swim to yonder point ? — Upon the word. 

Accoutred as I was, I plunged in, 

And bade him follow : so indeed he did. 

The torrent roared, and we did buffet it 

With lusty sinews ; throwing it aside, 

And stemming it with hearts of controversy. 

But ere we could arrive the point proposed, 

Caesar cried, Help me, Cassius, or I sink. 

I, as iEneas, our great ancestor, 

Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder 

The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber 

Did I the tired Caesar : and this man 

Is now become a god ; and Cassius is 

A wretched creature, and must bend his body 

If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. 

He had a fever when he was in Spain, 

And, when the fit was on him, I did mark 

How he did shake : 'tis true, this god did shake ; 

His coward lips did from then* colour fly ; 

And that same eye, whose bend does awe the world, 

Did lose its lustre : I did hear him groan : 

Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Eomans 

Mark him, and write Ms speeches in their books, 

Alas ! it cried, Give me some drink, Titinius, 

As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me, 

A man of such a feeble temper should 

So get the start of the majestic world, 

And bear the palm alone. 

Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world 

Like a Colossus, and we petty men 

Walk under his huge legs, and peep about 

To find ourselves dishonourable graves. 

Men at some time are masters of their fate? : 

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 

Q2 



370 SPEECHES. 

But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 

Brutus and Caesar : What should be hi that Caesar ? 

Why should that name be sounded more than yours V 

Write them together, yours is as fair a name ; 

Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well ; 

Weigh them, it is as heavy ; conjure with them, 

Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar. 

Now, in the names of all the gods at once, 

Upon what meat does this our Caesar feed, 

That he is grown so great ? Age, thou art shamed ! 

Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods ! 

When went there by an age, since the great flood. 

But it was famed with more than with one man ? 

When could they say, till now, that talked of Rome, 

That her wide walls encompassed but one man ? 

! you and I have heard our fathers say, 

There was a Brutus once, that would have brooked 

The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome, 

As easily as a king. Shakspear 



10. ADDRESS OF ION. 

Argives ! I have a boon 
To crave of you ; — whene'er I shall rejoin 
In death the father from whose heart in life 
Stern fate divided me, think gently of him ! 
For ye who saw him in his full-blown pride. 
Knew little of affections crushed within, 
And wrongs which frenzied him ; yet never more 
Let the great interests of the state depend 
Upon the thousand chances that may sway 
A piece of human frailty ! Swear to me 
That ye will seek hereafter in yourselves 
The means of sovereign rule : — our narrow space. 
So happy in its confines, so compact, 
Needs not the magic of a single name 
Which wider regions may require to draw 
Their interests into one ; but, circled thus, 
Like a blessed family by simple laws, 
May tenderly be governed ; all degrees 



SPEECHES. 371 

Moulded together as a single form 

Of nymph-like loveliness, which finest chords 

Of sympathy pervading, shall suffuse 

In times of quiet with one bloom, and fill 

With one resistless impulse, if the hosts 

Of foreign power should threaten. Gracious gods ! 

In whose mild service my glad youth was spent, 

Look on me now ; — and if there is a power, 

As at this solemn time I feel there is, 

Beyond ye, that hath breathed through all your shapes 

The spirit of the beautiful that lives 

In earth and heaven ; — to ye I offer up 

This conscious being, full of life and love 

For my dear country's welfare. Talfourd. 



11. — THE DUKE ARANZA TO JULIANA, FROM 
THE HONEY-MOON. 

I'll have no glittering gewgaws stuck about you 

To stretch the gaping eyes of idiot wonder, 

And make men stare upon a piece of earth 

As on the star- wrought firmament — no feathers 

To wave as streamers to your vanity — 

Nor cumbrous silk, that, with its rustling sound, 

Makes proud the flesh that bears it. She 's adorned 

Amply, that in her husband's eye looks lovely — 

The truest mirror that an honest wife 

Can see her beauty in ! 

Thus modestly attired, 
A half-blown rose stuck in thy braided hair, 
With no more diamonds than those eyes are made of. 
No deeper rubies than compose thy lips, 
Nor pearls more precious than inhabit them ; 
With the pure red and white, which that same hand 
Which blends the rainbow mingles in thy cheeks ; 
This well-proportioned form (think not I flatter) 
In graceful motion to harmonious sounds, 
And thy free tresses dancing in the wind, 
Thou 'It fix as much observance as chaste dames 
Can meet without a blush. Toeix. 



372 SPEECHES. 



12. SPEECH OF PRINCE EDWARD IN HIS DUNGEON. 

Doth the bright sun from the high arch of heaven, 
In all his beauteous robes of fleckered clouds, 
And ruddy vapours, and deep glowing flames, 
And softly varied shades, look gloriously ? 
Do the green woods dance to the wind ? the lakes 
Cast up their sparkling waters to the light ? 



Do the sweet hamlets in their bushy dells 

Send winding up to heaven their curling smoke 

On the soft morning air ? 

Do the flocks bleat, and the wild creatures bound 

In antic happiness ? and mazy birds 

Wing the mid air in lightly skimming bands ? 

Ay, all this is — men do behold all this — 

The poorest man. Even in this lonely vault, 

My dark and narrow world, oft do I hear 

The crowing of the cock so near my walls, 

And sadly think how small a space divides me 

From all this fair creation. Joanna Baillie. 






13. ORATION IN PRAISE OF CORIOLANUS. 

I shall lack voice : the deeds of Coriolanus 

Should not be uttered feebly. — At sixteen years, 

When Tarquin made a head for Rome, he fought 

Beyond the mark of others : our then dictator, 

Whom with all praise I point at. saw him fight, 

When with his Amazonian chin he drove 

The bristled lips before him : he bestrid 

An o'er-pressed Roman, and in the consul's view 

Slew three opposers : Tarquin's self he met, 

And struck him on his knee : in that day's feats, 

WTien he might act the woman in the scene, 

He proved the best man in the field, and for his meed 

Was brow-bound with the oak. — His pupil age, 

Man-entered thus, he waxed like a sea ; 



SPEECHES. 373 

And, in the brunt of seventeen battles since, 

He lurched all sAvords o' the garland. For this last, 

Before and in Corioli, let me say, 

I cannot speak him home : he stopped the fliers ; 

And, by his rare example, made the coward 

Turn terror into sport. As weeds before 

A vessel under sail, so men obeyed, 

And fell below his stem. Alone he entered 

The mortal gate of the city ; aidless came off, 

And with a sudden re-enforcement, struck 

Corioli like a planet : and till we called 

Both field and city ours, he never stood 

To ease his breast with panting. Shakspeare. 



— EVE S ADDRESS TO ADAM AFTER DREAMING THAT SHE HAD 
TASTED OF THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE. 

sole in whom my thoughts find all repose, 
My glory, my perfection ! glad I see 
Thy face, and morn returned ; for I this night 
iSuch night till this I never passed) have dreamed, 
If dreamed, not, as I oft am wont, of thee, 
Works of day past, or morrow's next design ; 
But of offence and trouble, which my mind 
Knew never till this irksome night. Methought 
Close at mine ear one called me forth to walk 
With gentle voice ; I thought it thine : it said, 
Why sleep'st thou, Eve ? now is the pleasant time, 
The cool, the silent, save where silence yields 
To the night-warbling bird, that now awake 
Tunes sweetest his love-laboured song : now reigns 
Full-orbed the moon, and with more pleasing light 
Shadowy sets off the face of things ; in vain, 
If none regard : heaven wakes with all his eyes ; 
Whom to behold but thee, nature's desire ? 
In whose sight all thhigs joy, with ravishment, 
Attracted by thy beauty still to gaze. 
I rose, as at thy call, but found' thee not : 
To find thee I directed then my walk ; 



374 SPEECHES. 

And on, mcthought, alone I passed through ways 

That brought me on a sudden to the tree 

Of interdicted knowledge : fair it seemed. 

Much fairer to my fancy than by day : 

And, as I wondering looked, beside it stood 

One shaped and winged like one of those from heaven 

By us oft seen : his dewy locks distilled 

Ambrosia : on that tree he also gazed : 

And, fair plant, said he, with fruit surcharged, 

Deigns none to ease thy load, and taste thy sweet. 

Nor God, nor man ? Is knowledge so despised ? 

Or envy, or what reserve forbids to taste ? 

Forbid who will, none shall from me withhold 

Longer thy offered good : why else set here ? 

This said, he paused not, but with venturous arm 

He plucked, he tasted : me damp horror chilled 

At such bold words, vouched with a deed so bold : 

But he thus, overjoyed : fruit divine, 

Sweet of thyself, but much more sweet thus cropt ! 

Here, happy creature, fair angelic Eve ! 

Partake thou also : happy though thou art, 

Happier thou may'st be, worthier canst not be : 

So saying, he drew nigh, and to me held, 

Even to my mouth of that same fruit held part 

Which he had plucked : the pleasant savoury smell 

So quickened appetite, that I, methought, 

Could not but taste, Forthwith up to the clouds 

With him I flew, and underneath beheld 

The earth outstretched immense, a prospect wide. 

And various : wondering at my flight and change 

To this high exaltation ; suddenly . 

My guide was gone ; and I, methought, sunk down. 

And fell asleep : but 0, how glad I waked 

To find this but a dream ! Milton. 



15. THE PASSIONS, AN ODE. 

When Music, heavenly maid, was young. 
While yet in early Greece she sung. 
The Passions oft, to hear her shell, 
Thronged around her magic cell, 



SPEECHES! 375 

Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, 
Possessed beyond the Muse's painting. 
By turns they felt the glowing mind 
Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined ; 
Till once, 't is said, when all were fired. 
Filled with fury, rapt, inspired, 
From the supporting myrtles round 
They snatched her instruments of sound ; 
And, as they oft had heard apart 
Sweet lessons of her forceful art, 
Each (for madness ruled the hour) 
Would prove his own expressive power. 

First, Fear, his hand, its skill to try, 

Amid the chords bewildered laid : 
And back recoiled, he knew not why, 

Even at the sound himself had made. 
Next, Anger rushed, his eyes on fire ; 

In lightnings owned his secret stings. 
In one rude clash he struck the lyre, 

And swept with hurried hands the strings. 

With woful measures, wan Despair — 

Low sullen sounds his grief beguiled ; 
A solemn, strange, and mingled ah* : 

'T was sad, by fits — by starts, 't was wild. 

But thou, Hope ! with eyes so fair, 

What was thy delighted measure ? 

Still it whispered promised pleasure, 
And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail. 
Still would her touch the strain prolong ; 

And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, 
She called on Echo still through all her song : 

And, where her sweetest theme she chose, 

A soft responsive voice was heard at every close ; 
And Hope, enchanted, smiled, and waved her golden hah : 

And longer had she simg — but, with a frown, 

Eevenge impatient rose. 
He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down ; 
And, with a withering look, 
The war-denouncing trumpet took. 



376 



SPEECHES. 



And blew a blast, so loud and dread, 
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of wo : 
And, ever and anon, he beat 
The doubling drum with furious heat. 
And though, sometimes, each dreary pause between, 
Dejected Pity at his side, 
Her soul-subduing voice applied, 
Yet still he kept his wild unaltered mien : 
While each strained ball of sight — seemed bursting from his head. 

Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fixed ; 

Sad proof of thy distressful state. 
Of differing themes the veering song was mixed : 

And, now, it courted Love; now, raving, called on Hate. 

With eyes upraised, as one inspired, 

Pale Melancholy sat retired ; 

And, from her wild sequestered seat, 

In notes by distance made more sweet, 

Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul : 

And, dashing soft, from rocks around, 

Bubbling runnels joined the sound. 
Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, 

Or o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, 
(Round a holy calm diffusing, 
Love of peace and lonely musing), 
In hollow murmurs died away. 



But, 0, how altered was its sprightlier tone ! 
When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, 

Her bow across her shoulder flung, 
Her buskins gemmed with morning dew, 

Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung. 
The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known ; 

The oak-crowned Sisters, and their chaste-eyed Queen 

Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen, 

Peeping from forth their alleys green : 

Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear, 

And Sport leapt up, and seized his beechen spear. 

Last, came Joy's ecstatic trial. 
He, with viny crown advancing, 



SPEECHES. 377 

First to the lively pipe his hand addressed ; 
But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol, 

Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best. 
They would have thought, who heard the strain, 
They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids, 
Amid the festal-sounding shades, 
To some unwearied minstrel dancing ; 
While, as his flying fingers kissed the strings, 
Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round, 
(Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound), 
And he amidst his frolic play, 
As if he would the charming air repay, 
Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings. Collins. 



16. — Alexander's feast ; or, the power of music, 
an ode for st Cecilia's day. 

Twas at the royal feast, for Persia won 
By Philip's warlike son. — 
Aloft, in awful state, 
The godlike hero sat 
On his imperial throne. 
His valiant peers were placed around, 
Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound ; 

So should desert in arms be crowned. 
The lovely Thais, by his side, 
Sat like a blooming Eastern bride, 
In flower of youth, and beauty's pride. — 
Happy, happy, happy pair ! 
None but the brave, 
None but the brave, 
None but the brave — deserves the fail*. 

Timotheus, placed on high 

Amid the tuneful choir, 

With flying fingers touched the lyre : 
The trembling notes ascend the sky, 

And heavenly joys inspire. — 
The song began from Jove, 
Who left his blissful seats above ; 
Such is the power of mighty love. 



378 SPEECHES. 

A dragon's fiery form belied the god : 
Sublime on radiant spheres he rode, 

When he to fair Olympia pressed, 
And stamped an image of himself, a sovereign of the world. 

The listening crowd admire the lofty sound : 
A present deity ! they shout around ; 
A present deity ! the vaulted roofs rebound. — 

With ravished ears 

The monarch hears ; 

Assumes the god, 

Affects to nod, 
And seems to shake the spheres. 

The praise of Bacchus, then, the sweet musician sung : 
Of Bacchus, ever fair, and ever young. 
The jolly god in triumph comes ! 
Sound the trumpets, beat the drums. 
Flushed with a purple grace, 
He shows his honest face. 
Now give the hautboys breath — he comes ! he comes ! 
Bacchus, ever fair and young, 
Drinking joys did first ordain. 
Bacchus' blessings are a treasure ; 
Drinking is the soldier's pleasure. 
Rich the treasure ; 
Sweet the pleasure ; 
Sweet is pleasure after pain. 

Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain ; 
Fought all his battles o'er again ; 
And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain. 
The master saw the madness rise ; 
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes ; 
And, while he heaven and earth defied, 
Changed his hand, and checked his pride. — 

He chose a mournful muse 

Soft pity to infuse. 
He sung Darius, great and good, 

By too severe a fate, 

Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, 

Fallen from his high estate, 
And weltering in his blood. 
Deserted in his utmost need 



SPEECHES. 379 



By those his former bounty fed, 
On the bare earth exposed he lies, 
With not a friend to close his eyes. — 

With downcast look the joyless victor sat 
Revolving, in his altered soul, 

The various turns of fate below ; 
And, now and then, a sigh he stole, 
And tears began to flow. 

The mighty master smiled, to see 
That love was in the next degree ; 
'Twas but a kindred sound to move : 
For pity melts the mind to love. 
Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, 
Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures. 
War, he sung, is toil and trouble ; 
Honour but an empty bubble ; 

Never ending, still beginning, 
Fighting still, and still destroying. 

If the world be worth thy winning. 
Think, oh ! think it worth enjoying ! 
Lovely Thais sits beside thee ; 
Take the good the gods provide thee. — 
The many rend the skies with loud applause : 
So love was crowned, but music won the cause. 
The prince, unable to conceal his pain. 
Gazed on the fair 
Who caused his care, 



At length, with love and wine at once oppressed. 
The vanquished victor sunk upon her breast. 

Now, strike the golden lyre again ; 

A louder yet, and yet a louder strain : 
Break his bands of sleep asunder, 
And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder. 

Hark ! hark ! — the horrid sound 
Has raised up his head, 
As awaked from the dead ; 

And amazed he stares around. 
Revenge, revenge ! Timotheus cries — 
See the furies arise ! 



380 SPEECHES. 

See the snakes that they rear, 
How they hiss in the air, 
And the sparkles that flash from their eyes !— 
Behold a ghastly band, 
Each a torch in his hand ! 
These are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain, 
And, unburied, remain 
Inglorious on the plain. 
Give the vengeance due 
To the valiant crew. 
Behold how they toss their torches on high ! 
How they point to the Persian abodes, 
And glittering temples of their hostile gods ! — 
The princes applaud, with a furious joy; 
And the king seized a flambeau, with zeal to destroy : 
Thais led the way, 
To light him to his prey ; 
And, like another Helen — fired another Troy. 

Thus long ago, 

Ere heaving bellows learned to blow, 

While organs yet were mute ; 

Timotheus, to his breathing flute 
And sounding lyre, 
Could swell the soul to rage — or kindle soft desire. 

At last, divine Cecilia came, 

Inventress of the vocal frame. 
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store 

Enlarged the former narrow bounds, 

And added length to solemn sounds, 
With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. 

Let Old Timotheus yield the prize, 
Or both divide the crown : 

He raised a mortal to the skies ; 

She drew an angel down. Dryden. 



17. SPEECH OF ROLLA. 

My brave associates — partners of my toil, my feelings, and my fame ! 
Can Holla's words add vigour to the virtuous energies which inspire 
your hearts ? — No ; — you have judged as I have, the foulness of the 



SPEECHES. 381 

crafty plea by which these bold invaders would delude you. — Your 
generous spirit has compared, as mine has, the motives which, in a 
war like this, can animate their minds and ours. — They, by a strange 
frenzy driven, fight for power, for plunder, and extended rule ; — we, 
for our country, our altars, and our homes. — They follow an adven- 
turer whom they fear, and obey a power which they hate ; — ice serve 
a monarch whom we love, — a G-od whom we adore. — Whene'er they 
move in anger, desolation tracks their progress! — Whene'er they 
pause in amity, affliction mourns their friendship. — They boast, they 
come but to improve our state, enlarge our thoughts, and free us 
from the yoke of error ! — Yes — they will give enlightened freedom 
to our minds, who are themselves the slaves of passion, avarice, and 
'pride. — They offer us their protection. — Yes, such protection as 
vultures give to lambs — covering and devouring them. — They call 
on us to barter all of good we have inherited and proved, for the 
desperate chance of something better which they promise. — Be our 
plain answer this : The throne we honour is the people's choice ; — 
the laws we reverence are our brave fathers' legacy ; — the faith we 
follow teaches us to live in bonds of charity with all mankind, and 
die with hope of bliss beyond the grave. — Tell your invaders this, 
and tell them too, we seek no change ; and, least of all, such change 
as they would bring us. Sheridan's Pizarro. 



18. VIRGINIUS APPEALING TO HIS FELLOW-CITIZENS TO RESCUE 

HIS DAUGHTER FROM THE HANDS OF APPIUS. 

Is this the daughter of a slave ? I know 

'T is not with men as shrubs and trees, that by 

The shoot you know the rank and order of 

The stem. Yet who from such a stem would look 

For such a shoot. My witnesses are these — 

The relatives and friends of Numitoria, 

Who saw her, ere Virginia's birth, sustain 

The burden which a mother bears, nor feels 

The weight, with longing for the sight of it. 

Here are the ears that listened to her sighs 

In nature's hour of labour, which subsides 

In the embrace of joy — the hands, that when 

The day first looked upon the infant's face, 

And never looked so pleased, helped them up to it, 

And blessed her for a blessing. Here the eyes 



882 SPEECHES. 

That saw her lying at the generous 

And sympathetic fount, that, at her cry, 

Sent forth a stream of liquid living pearl 

To cherish her enamelled veins. The lie 

Is most unfruitful then, that takes the flower — 

The very flower our bed connubial grew — 

To prove its barrenness ! Fellow-citizens 

Look not on Claudius, look on your Decemvir ! 

He is the master claims Virginia ! 

The tongues that told him she was not my child 

Are these — the costly charms he cannot purchase, 

Except by making her the slave of Claudius. 

Look upon her, Romans ! 
Befriend her ! succour her ! see her not polluted 
Before her father's eyes !— He is but one ; 
Tear her from Appius and his Lictors, while 
She is unstained ! your hands ! your hands ! your hands. 

Sheridan Knowles. 



19. — clarence's dream. 

Methought that I had broken from the Tower, 

And was embarked to cross to Burgundy ; 

And in my company my brother Gloster : 

Who from my cabin tempted me to walk 

Upon the hatches ; thence we looked toward England, 

And cited up a thousand heavy times, 

During the wars of York and Lancaster 

That had befallen us. As we paced along 

Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, 

Methought that Gloster stumbled ; and. in falling, 

Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard, 

Into the tumbling billows of the main. 

then methought what pain it was to drown ! 

What dreadful noise of water in mine ears ! 

What sights of ugly death within mine eyes ! 

Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks ; 

A thousand men that fishes gnawed upon ; 

Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,. 

Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, 

All scattered in the bottom of the sea. 



SPEECHES. 383 

Some lay in dead men's skulls ; and in those holes 
Where eves did once inhabit, there were crept, 
As 't were in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems, 
That wooed the slimy bottom of the deep, 
And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by. 

And often did I strive 
To yield the ghost : but still the envious flood 
Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth 
To seek the empty, vast, and wandering air ; 
But smothered it within my panting bulk, 
"Which almost burst to belch it in the sea. 

— My dream was lengthened after life ; 
0, then began the tempest to my soul ! 
I passed, methought, the melancholy flood 
"With that grim ferryman which poets write of, 
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. 
The first that there did greet my stranger soul 
"Was my great father-in-law, renowned "Warwick ; 
Who cried aloud, — " WTiat scourge for perjury 
" Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence ?"' 
And so he vanished : Then came wandering by 
A shadow like an angel, with bright hair 
Dabbled in blood ; and he shrieked out aloud. — 
" Clarence is come, — false, fleeting, perjured Clarence, — 
" That stabbed me in the field by Tewksbury ;— 
" Seize on him, furies, take him to your torment !" — • 
With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends 
Environed me, and howled hi mine ears 
Such hideous cries, that with the very noise 
I trembling waked, and, for a season after, 
Could not believe but that I was in hell ; 
Such terrible impression made my dream. 
0, Brackenbury, I have done these things, — 
That now give evidence against my soul, — 
For Edward's sake ; and see how he requites me ! — 

Heaven ! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee, 
But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds, 

Yet execute thy wrath on me alone : 

0, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children ! — 

1 pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me ; 

My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. Shakspeare. 



384 



SPEECHES. 



20. — hamlet's advice to the players. 

Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you. trip- 
pingly on the tongue. But if you mouth it, as many of your players 
do, I had as lief the town-crier had spoke my lines. Nor do not 
saw the air too much with your hand thus : but use all gently ; for in 
the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of your pas- 
sion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it 
smoothness. Oh ! it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious 
periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split 
the ears of the groundlings ; who (for the most part) are capable of 
nothing but inexplicable dumb-shows and noise. Pray you, avoid it. 
Be not too tame neither; but let your own discretion be your 
tutor. Suit the action to the word, the word to the action ; with 
this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of Nature: 
for anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing; whose 
end is — to hold, as 't were, the mirror up to Nature ; to show Virtue 
her own feature, Scorn her own image, — and the very age and body 
of the Time, his form and pressure. Now, this overdone or come 
tardy off, though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make 
the judicious grieve : the censure of the which one must, in your 
allowance, o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. Oh! there be 
players that I have seen play, and heard others praise, and that 
lnghly, that, neither having the accent of Christian, nor the gait of 
Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed, that I 
have thought some of Nature's journeymen had made men, and not 
made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably. 

Siiakspeaee. 






SOLILOQUIES, 



1. HENRY THE FOURTH'S SOLILOQUY ON SLEEP. 

How many thousand of my poorest subjects 

Are at this hour asleep ! Sleep ! gentle Sleep, 

Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, 

That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down, 

And steep my senses in forgetfulness ! 

Why rather, Sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, 

Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, 

And hushed with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber, 

Than in the perfumed chambers of the great 

Under the canopies of costly state, 

And lulled with sounds of sweetest melody ? 

thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile 

In loathsome beds ; and leavest the kingly couch 

A watch-case, or a common 'larum bell ? 

Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast 

Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains 

In cradle of the rude imperious surge ; 

And, in the visitation of the winds, 

Who take the ruffian billows by the top, 

Cm-ling their monstrous heads, and hanging them 

With deafening clamours in the slippery clouds 

That with the hurly death itself awakes ? 

Canst thou, partial Sleep ! give thy repose 

To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude ; 

And in the calmest and most stillest night, 

With all appliances and means to boot, 

Deny it to a king ? Then, happy low-lie-down ! 

Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. 

Shakspeare. 



2. — lady Randolph's soliloquy. 

Ye woods and wilds, whose melancholy gloom 
Accords with my soul's sadness, and draws forth 
The voice of sorrow from my bursting heart, 



386 SOLILOQUIES. 

Farewell a while : I will not leave you long ; 

For in your shades I deem some spirit dwells, 

Who, from the chiding stream or groaning oak, 

Still hears and answers to Matilda's moan. 

Oh Douglas ! Douglas ! if departed ghosts 

Are e'er permitted to review this world, 

Within the circle of that wood thou art, 

And, with the passion of immortals, hear'st 

My lamentation ; hear'st thy wretched wife 

Weep for her husband slain, her infant lost. 

My brother's timeless death I seem to mourn, 

Who perished with thee on this fatal day : 

To thee I lift my voice ; to thee address 

The plaint which mortal ear has never heard. 

disregard me not ; though I am called 

Another's now, my heart is wholly thine. 

Incapable of change, affection lies 

Buried, my Douglas, in thy bloody grave. Home. 



3. CATO's SOLILOQUY ON THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 

It must be so — Plato, thou reasonest well ! 

Else, whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, 

This longing after immortality ? 

Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror, 

Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul 

Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? — 

'T is the Divinity that stirs within us : 

'T is Heaven itself that points out an hereafter, 

And intimates Eternity to man. 

Eternity ! — thou pleasing — dreadful thought ! 

Through what variety of untried being, 

Through what new scenes and changes must we pass ! 

The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me ; 

But shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it. — 

Here will I hold. If there 's a Power above, 

(And that there is, all Nature cries aloud 

Through all her works), He must delight in virtue : 

And that which He delights in must be happy. 

But when ? or where ? This world was made for Caesar ? 



SOLILOQUIES. 387 

I 'm weary of conjectures — this must end them. — 

[Laying his hand on his sword. 
Thus I am doubly armed. My death and life, 
My bane and antidote, are both before me. 
This in a moment brings me to an end ; 
But this informs me I shall never die. 
The soul, secured in her existence, smiles 
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. — 
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself 
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years ; 
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, 
Unhurt amidst the war of elements, 
The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds. Addison. 



4. — hamlet's soliloquy on death. 

To be, or not to be, that is the question : 

Whether 't is nobler in the mind, to suffer 

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, 

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 

And, by opposing, end them ? — To die — to sleep — 

No more ; — and, by a sleep, to say we end 

The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks 

That flesh is heir to — 't is a consummation 

Devoutly to be wished. To die — to sleep — 

To sleep ! — perchance to dream — ay, there 's the rub. 

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, 

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 

Must give us pause. — There 's the respect, 

That makes calamity of so long life : 

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, 

The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, 

The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, 

The insolence of office, and the spurns 

That patient merit of the unworthy takes, 

WTien he himself might his quietus make 

With a bare bodkin ? who would fardels bear, 

To groan and sweat under a weary life, 

But that the dread of something after death, 

(That undiscovered country, from whose bourn 



388 SOLILOQUIES. 

No traveller returns) puzzles the will ; 

And makes us rather bear those ills we have, 

Than fly to others that we know not of. 

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all : 

And thus the native hue of resolution 

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ; 

And enterprises of great pith and moment, 

With this regard, their currents turn awry, 

And lose the name of action. Shakspeare. 



0. SAMSON AGONISTES. 

This day a solemn feast the people hold 
To Dagon their sea-idol, and forbid 
Laborious works ; unwillingly this rest 
Their superstition yields me ; hence with leave 
Retiring from the popular noise, I seek 
This unfrequented place to find some ease, 
Ease to the body some, none to the mind, 
From restless thoughts, that like a deadly swarm 
Of hornets armed, no sooner found alone, 
But rush upon me thronging, and present 
Times past, what once I was, and what am now. 

— But chief of all, 
loss of sight, of thee I most complain ! 
Blind among enemies, worse than chains, 
Dungeon, or beggary, or decrepit age ! 
Light, the prime work of God, to me is extinct, 
And all her various objects of delight 
Annull'd, which might in part my grief have eased, 
Inferior to the vilest now become 
Of man or worm ; the vilest here excel me ; 
They creep, yet see ; I dark in light exposed 
To daily fraud, contempt, abuse, and wrong, 
Within doors, or without, still as a fool, 
In power of others, never in my own ; 
Scarce half I seem to live, dead more than half. 
dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon, 
Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse 
Without all hope of day ! 



SOLILOQUIES. 389 

first created Beam, and thou great Word, 

" Let there be light, and light was over all;" 

Why am I thus bereaved thy prime decree ? 

The sun to me is dark 

And silent as the moon, 

When she deserts the night, 

Hid in her vacant interlunar cave. 

Since light so necessary is to life, 

And almost life itself, if it be true 

That light is in the soul, 

She all in every part ; why was the sight 

To such a tender ball as the eye confined, 

So obvious and so easy to be quenched? 

And not as feeling through all parts diffused, 

That she might look at will through every pore ? 

Then had I not been thus exiled from light, 

As in the land of darkness, yet in light, 

To live a life half dead, a living death, 

And buried , but yet more miserable ! 

Myself my sepulchre, a moving grave ; 

Buried, yet not exempt, 

By privilege of death and burial, 

From worst of other evils, pains, and wrongs ; 

But made hereby obnoxious more 

To all the miseries of life, 

Life in captivity 

Among inhuman foes. 

But who are these? for with joint pace I hear 

The tread of many feet steering this way ; 

Perhaps my enemies, who come to stare 

At my affliction, and perhaps to insult, 

Their daily practice to afflict me more. Milton. 



COMIC EXTRACTS. 



1. CONCLUSION OP PHIL. FUDGE'S LETTER TO HIS BROTHER 

TIM. FUDGE, ESQ., BARRISTER-AT-LAW. 

And now, my brother, guide, and friend, 

This somewhat tedious scrawl must end. 

I 've gone into this long detail, 

Because I saw your nerves were shaken, 

With anxious fears lest I should fail 

In this new loyal course I've taken. 

But, bless your heart ! you need not doubt — 

We, Fudges, know what we 're about. 

Look round and say if you can see 

A much more thriving family. 

There's Jack, the doctor — night and day 

Hundreds of patients so besiege him, 

You 'd swear that all the rich and gay 

Fell sick on purpose to oblige him. 

And while they think, the precious ninnies, 

He's counting o'er their pulse so steady, 

The rogue but counts how many guineas 

He 's fobbed for that day's work already. 

I shan't forget th' old maid's alarm, 

When, feeling thus Miss Sukey Flirt, he 

Said, as he dropped her shrivelled arm, 

Very bad this morning — only thirty. 

Your dowagers, too, every one 
So generous are, when they call him in, 
That he might now retire upon 
The rheumatisms of three old women. 
Then, whatsoe'er your ailments are, 
He can so learnedly explain 'em. 
Your cold of course is a catarrh, 
Your headach is a hemi-cranium. — 
His skill, too, in young ladies' lungs, 
The grace with which, most mild of men. 
He begs them to put out their tongues, 
Then bids them — put them in again ! 



■I 



' 



COMIC EXTRACTS. 391 

In short, there's nothing now like Jack; — 
Take all your doctors, great and small, 
Of present times and ages back, 
Dear Doctor Fudge is worth them all. 

So much for physic — then in law too, 

Counsellor Tim ! to thee we bow ; 

Not one of us gives more eclat to 

The immortal name of Fudge than thou. 

Xot to expatiate on the art 

With which you played the patriot's part 

Till something good and snug should offer; 

Like one, who, by the way he acts 

The enlightening part of candle-snuffer, 

The manager's keen eye attracts, 

And is promoted thence by him 

To strut in robes like thee, my Tim. 

"Who shall describe thy powers %£ face, 

Thy well-fee' d zeal in every case, 

Or wrong or right — but ten times warmer 

(As suits thy calling) in the former — 

Thy glorious, lawyer-like delight 

In puzzling all that 's clear and right, 

"Which, though conspicuous in thy youth, 

Improves so with a wig and band on 

That all thy pride 's to way-lay Truth, 

And leave her not a leg to stand on — 

Thy potent, prime, morality, — 

Thy cases cited from the Bible, — 

Thy candour, when it falls to thee 

To help in trouncing for a libel ; — 

" Heaven knows, I, from my soul, profess 

" To hate all bigots and benighters ! 

" Heaven knows that even to excess, 

" The sacred freedom of the press, 

" My only aim's to crush — the writers." 

These are the virtues, Tim, that draw 

The briefs into thy bag 'so fast ; 

And these, Tim, — if law be law — 

"Will raise thee to the Bench at last. 

I blush to see this letter's length, — 
But 'twas my wish to prove to thee 



392 COMIC EXTRACTS. 

How full of hope, and wealth, and strength. 

Are all our precious family ; 

And, should affairs go on as pleasant 

As, thank the Fates, they do at present, — 

I hope erelong to see the day 

When England's wisest statesmen, judges, 

Lawyers, peers, will all be — Fudges ! 

Good-bye — my paper's out so nearly 

I've only room for Yours sincerely. 

Moore's Fudge Family. 



2. CONTEST BETWEEN THE NOSE AND EYES. 

Between Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose, 
The spectacles set them unhappily wrong ; 

The point in dispute was, as all the world knows, 
To which the said spectacles ought to belong. 

So Tongue was the Lawyer, and argued the cause 
With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of learning, 

While chief-baron Ear sat to balance the laws, 
So famed for his talent in nicely discerning. 

In behalf of the Nose, it will quickly appear, 

And your Lordship, he said, will undoubtedly find. 

That the Nose has had spectacles always in wear, 
Which amounts to possession time out of mind. 

Then, holding the spectacles up to the court — 

Your Lordship observes they are made with a straddle 

As wide as the ridge of the Nose is, — in short, 
Designed to sit close to it, just like a saddle. 

Again, would your Lordship a moment suppose 
(Tis a case that has happened, and may be again), 

That the visage or countenance had not a Nose, 

Pray who would or who could wear spectacles then ? 

On the whole it appears, and my argument shows, 
With a reasoning the court will never condemn, 

That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose, 
And the Nose was as plainly intended for them. 



come EXTRACTS. 393 



Then shifting his side, as a lawyer knows how, 

He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes ; 
But what were his arguments few people know, 

For the court did not think they were equally wise. 

So his Lordship decreed, with a grave solemn tone, 

Decisive and clear, without one if ov but, 
That whenever the Nose put his spectacles on, 

By day-light or candle-light — Eyes should be shut. 

Cowpee. 



3. THE MONKEY. 

Monkey, little merry fellow, 
Thou art Nature's Punchinello ; 
Full of fun as Puck could be — 
Harlequin might learn of thee ! 

In the very ark, no doubt, 
You went frolicking about ; 
Never keeping in your mind 
Drowned monkeys left behind ! 

Have you no traditions — none 
Of the court of Solomon ? 
No memorial how ye went 
With Prince Hiram's armament ? 

Look not at him, slily peep ; 
He pretends to be asleep ; 
Fast asleep upon his bed, 
With his arm beneath his head. 

Now that posture is not right, 
And he is not settled quite ; 
There ! that 's better than before, 
And the knave pretends to snore. 

Ha ! he is not half asleep ; 

See he slily takes a peep, 

Monkey ! though your eyes were shut, 

You could see this little nut. 

You shall have it, pigmy brother ! 
What, another ! and another ! 



R2 



394 



COMIC EXTRACTS. 

Nay your cheeks are like a sack — * 
Sit down and begin to crack. 

There the little ancient man 

Cracks as fast as crack he can ! 

Now good-bye, you merry fellow, 

Nature's primest Punchinello. Mary Howitt. 



4. LODGINGS FOR SINGLE GENTLEMEN. 

Who has e'er been in London, that overgrown place, 
Has seen " Lodgings to Let " stare him full in the face. 
Some are good, and let dearly; while some, 'tis well known, 
Are so dear, and so bad, they are best let alone. — 

"Will Waddle, whose temper was studious and lonely, 
Hired lodgings that took Single Gentlemen only ; 
But Will was so fat, he appeared like a tun, — 
Or like two Single Gentlemen rolled into One. 

He entered his rooms, and to bed he retreated ; 
But, all the night long, he felt fevered and heated ; 
And, though heavy to weigh, as a score of fat sheep, 
He was not, by any means, heavy to sleep. 

Next night 't was the same ! — and the next ! and the next ! 
He perspired like an ox ; he was nervous, and vexed ; 
Week passed after week, till by weekly succession, 
His weakly condition was past all expression. 

In six months his acquaintance began much to doubt him ; 
For his skin, " like a lady's loose gown," hung about him. 
He sent for a Doctor, and cried, like a ninny, 
" I have lost many pounds — make me well — there 's a guinea. 

The Doctor looked wise : — " a slow fever," he said ; 
Prescribed sudorifics, — and going to bed. 
" Sudorifics in bed," exclaimed Will, " are humbugs ! 
" I've enough of them there, without paying for drugs !" 

Will kicked out the Doctor : — but when ill indeed, 
E'en dismissing the Doctor don't always succeed ; 
So, calling his host — he said — " Sir, do you know, 
" I 'm the fat Single Gentleman, six months ago ? 



COMIC EXTRACTS. 395 

u Look ye, Landlord, I think," argued Will with a grin, 

* That with honest intentions you first took me in: 

" But from the first night — and to say it I 'm bold — 
i I 've been so very hot, that I 'm sure I caught cold!" 

Quoth the landlord, — " Till now, I ne'er had a dispute ; 
" I 've let lodgings ten years, — I 'm a baker to boot ; 
" In airing your sheets, sir, my wife is no sloven ; 
" And your bed is immediately — over my oven." 

" The oven ! ! ! " — says Will ; — says the host, " Why this passion ? 

* In that excellent bed died three people of fashion. 

" Why so crusty, good sir?" — " Zounds !" cried Will in a taking, 
" Who would not be crusty, with half a year's baking ? " 

Will paid for his rooms : — cried the host, with a sneer, 

" Well, I see you 've been going away half a year." 

I Friend, we can't well agree ; — yet no quarrel " — Will said : — 

" But I 'd rather not perish, while you make your bread" 

COLMAN. 



5. THE WELL OF ST KEYNE. 

A Well there is in the west country, 
And a clearer one never was seen ; 

There is not a wife in the west country 
But has heard of the Well of St Keyne. 

An oak and an elm tree stand beside, 
And behind does an ash tree grow ; 

And a willow from the bank above, 
Droops to the water below. 

A traveller came to the Well of St Keyne, 

Joyfully he drew nigh ; 
For from cock-crow he had been travelling, 

And there was not a cloud in the sky. 

He drank of the water so cool and clear, 

For hot and thirsty was he ; 
And he sat down upon the bank, 

Under the willow tree. 

There came a man from the neighbouring town, 
At the Well to fill his pail ; 



396 COMIC EXTRACTS. 

By the well-side he rested it, 
And he bade the stranger hail. 

" Now, art thou a bachelor, stranger?" quoth he, 

" For an if thou hast a wife, 
" The happiest draught thou hast drunk this day, 

" That ever thou didst in thy life. 

" Or has thy good woman, if one thou hast, 

" Ever here in Cornwall been? 
" For an if she have I '11 venture ray life, 

" She has drank of the Well of St Keyne." 

" I have left a good woman who never was here," 

The stranger he made reply ; 
" But that my draught should be better for that, 

" I pray you answer me why." 

" St Keyne," quoth the Cornishman, " many a time 

" Drank of this crystal Well; 
" And before the angel summoned her 

" She laid on the water a spell ; — 

" If the husband, of this gifted Well 

" Shall drink before his wife, 
" A happy man henceforth is he, 

" For he shall be master for life. 

" But if the wife should drink of it first, 

" God help the husband then !" 
The stranger stoop'd to the Well of St Keyne, 

And drank of the water again. 

" You drank of the Well, I warrant, betimes," 

He to the Cornishman said ; 
But the Cornishman smiled as the stranger spake, 

And sheepishly shook his head. 

" I hastened as soon as the wedding was done, 

" And left my wife in the porch ; 
" But i' faith she had been wiser than 1, 

" For she took a bottle to church." Southey. 



COMIC EXTRACTS. 397 



6. THE NEWCASTLE APOTHECARY. 

A MAN in many a country town we know, 
Professing openly with Death to wrestle : 

Entering the field against the grimly foe, 
Armed with a mortar and a pestle. 

Yet some affirm, no enemies they are ; 
But meet just like prize-fighters in a fan-, 
Who first shake hands before they box, 
Then give each other plaguy knocks, 
With all the love and kindness of a brother. 
So (many a suffering patient saith) 
Though the Apothecary fights with Death, 
Still they 're sworn friends to one another. 

A member of the iEsculapian line, 
Lived at Newcastle-upon-Tyne ; 
No man could better gild a pill ; 

Or make a bill ; 
Or mix a draught, or bleed, or blister ; 
Or draw a tooth out of your head ; 
Or chatter scandal by your bed ; 

Or spread a plaster. 

His fame full six miles round the country ran, 
In short, in reputation he was solus ! 

All the old women called him " a fine man !" — 
His name was Bolus. 

Benjamin Bolus, though in trade, 

(Which oftentimes will genius fetter), 

Eead works of fancy, it is said, 
And cultivated the Belles Lettres. 

And why should this be thought so odd ? 

Can't men have taste who cure a phthysic ? 
Of poetry though patron god, 

Apollo patronizes physic. 

Bolus loved verse, and took so much delight in 't, 
That his prescriptions he resolved to write in't. 



398 COMIC EXTRACTS. 

No opportunity he e'er let pass 

Of writing the directions on his labels, 
In dapper couplets, like Gay's Fables ; 

Or rather like the lines in Hudibras. 

Apothecary's verse ! — and where 's the treason ? 

'T is simply honest dealing ; — not a crime ; 
When patients swallow physic without reason, 

It is but fair to give a little rhyme. 

He had a patient lying at Death's door, 

Some three miles from the town, it might be four ; 
To whom, one evening, Bolus sent an article, 

In pharmacy, that 's called cathartical. 
And on the label of the stuff 

He wrote this verse ; 
Which one would think was clear enough 
And terse, — 
" When taken, 
• " To be well shaken.' 1 '' 
Next morning, early, Bolus rose ; 

And to the patient's house he goes 
Upon his pad, 
Who a vile trick of stumbling had : 
It was indeed a very sorry hack ; 
But that 's of course ; 
For what 's expected from a horse 
With an apothecary on his back ? 

Bolus arrived, and gave a double tap, 
Between a single and a double rap. 

Knocks of this kind 

Are given by gentlemen who teach to dance ; 

By fiddlers, and by opera-singers : 
One loud, and then a little one behind, 

As if the knocker fell by chance 

Out of their fingers. 

The servant let him in, with dismal face, 
Long as a courtier's out of place — 

Portending some disaster ; 
John's countenance as rueful looked, and grim, 
As if the Apothecary had physicked him, 

And not his master. 



COMIC EXTRACTS. 399 

" Well, how 's the patient ? " Bolus said. 
John shook his head. 
" Indeed ? — hum ! — ha ! — that 's very odd ; 
" He took the draught?" — John gave a nod. 
'•' Well — how? — What then? — Speak out, you dunce!" — 
' : Why then," says John, " we shook him once." 
" Shook him ! — how?" Bolus stammered out : 

" We jolted him about." 
" Zounds! — shake a patient, man — a shake won't do." 
" No, sir — and so we gave him two." 

" Two shakes ! — odds curse ! 

11 T would make the patient worse." 
" It did so, sir — and so a third we tried." 
" Well, and what then?" — "Then, sir, my master — died." 

COLMAN. 



7. JUSTICE AND THE OYSTER. 

Once (says an author, where I need not say), 

Two travellers found an oyster in their way ; 

Both fierce, both hungry, the dispute grew strong, 

While, scale in hand, dame Justice passed along ; 

Before her each with clamour pleads the laws, 

Explains the matter and would win the cause. 

Dame Justice, weighing long the doubtful right, 

Takes, opens, swallows it, before their sight. 

The cause of strife, removed so rarely well, 

There take, says Justice, take you each a shell. 

Yv T e thrive at Westminster on fools like you ; 

'T was a fat oyster, live in peace — adieu. Pope 



THE PASSIONS. 






1. CHEERFULNESS. 

Tranquillity appears by the composure of the countenance 
and general repose of the whole body, without the exertion of 
any one muscle. The countenance open, the forehead smooth, 
the eyebrows arched, the mouth just not shut, and the eyes 
passing with an easy motion from object to object, but not 
dwelling long upon any one. Cheerfulness adds a smile to 
tranquillity, and opens the mouth a little more. 

EXAMPLE. 

But, 0, how altered was its sprightlier tone ! 
When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, 
Her how across her shoulder flung, 
Her buskins gemmed with morning dew, 

Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, 
The hunter's call, to Fawn and Dryad known ; 
The oak-crowned Sisters, and their chaste-eyed Queen, 
Satyrs and sylvan boys, were seen 
Peeping from forth their alleys green : 
Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear, 
And Sport leapt up, and seized his beechen spear. 

Collins. 
The wealth of nature in my hand, 
One flail of virgin gold, — 
My love above me like a sun, — 
My own bright thoughts my wings, — 
Through life I trust to flutter on 
As gay as ought that sings. K. M. Milnes. 



2. MIRTH. 

Mirth, or laughter, opens the mouth horizontally, raises the 
cheeks high, lessens the aperture of the eyes,- and, when vio- 
lent, shakes and convulses the whole frame, fills the eyes with 
tears, and occasions holding the sides from the pain the con- 
vulsive laughter gives them. 

EXAMPLE. 

A fool, — a fool ! I met a fool i' the forest, 

A motley fool ; — a miserable world ! — 

As I do live by food, I met a fool ; 

Who laid him down, and basked him in the sun, 

And railed on Lady Fortune in good terms, 

In good set terms, — and yet a motley fool. 

" Good-morrow, fool," quoth I : " No, sir," quoth he, 

" Call me not fool, till Heaven hath sent me fortune : " 



THE PASSIONS. 401 

And, then he drew a dial from his poke ; 

And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, 

Says, very wisely, " It is ten o'clock : 

Thus may we see," quoth he, " how the world wags : 

'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, 

And after one hour more 't will be eleven ; 

And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, 

And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot, 

And thereby hangs a tale." When I did hear 

The motley fool thus moral on the time, 

My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, 

That fools should be so deep-contemplative ; 

And I did laugh, sans intermission, 

An hour by his dial. noble fool ! 

A worthy fool ! Motley 's the only wear. 

Shakspeare's As You Like it. 



3. RAILLERY. 

Kaillery, without animosity, puts on the aspect of cheerful- 
ness ; the countenance smiling, and the tone of voice sprightly. 

EXAMPLE. 

Let me play the fool 
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come ; 
And let my liver rather heat with wine, 
Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. 
Why should a man, whose blood is warm within, 
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster ? 
Sleep when he wakes ? and creep into the jaundice 
By being peevish ? I tell thee what, Antonio, 
(I love thee, and it is my love that speaks). 
There are a sort of men, whose visages 
Do cream and mantle like a standing pond ; 
And do a wilful stillness entertain, 
With purpose to be drest in an opinion 
Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit ; 
As who should say, " I am Sir Oracle, 
And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark !" 
I '11 tell thee more of this another time ; 
But fish not with this melancholy bait 
For this fool gudgeon, this opinion. 
Come, good Lorenzo, — fare ye well a while ; 
I '11 end my exhortation after dinner. 

Shakspeare's Merchant of Venice. 



4. — JOY. 
Joy, when moderate, opens the countenance with smiles, and 
throws, as it were, a sunshine of delectation over the whole 



402 THE PASSIONS. 

frame ; when it is sudden and violent, it expresses itself by 
clapping the hands, raising the eyes towards heaven, and 
giving such a spring to the body as to make it attempt to 
mount up as if it could fly : when joy is extreme, and goes 
into transport, rapture, and ecstasy, it has a wildness of look 
and gesture that borders on folly, madness, and sorrow. 



Imoinda, oh ! this separation 
Has made you dearer, if it can be so, 
Than you were ever to me : you appear 
Like a kind star to my benighted steps, 
To guide me on my way to happiness ; 
I cannot miss it now. "Governor, friend, 
You think me mad : but let me bless you all 
Who any ways have been the instruments 
Of finding her again. Imoinda' s found ! 
And every thing that I would have in her. 

Southern's Oroonoho. 

Oh Joy ! thou welcome stranger, twice three years 

I have not felt thy vital beam ; but now, 

It warms my veins, and plays around my heart, 

A fiery instinct lifts me from the ground, 

And I could mount. Young. 



5. — LOVE. 

Love gives a soft serenity to the countenance, a languishing 
to the eyes, a sweetness to the voice, and a tenderness to the 
whole frame ; when entreating, it clasps the hands, with in- 
termingled fingers, to the breast; when declaring, the right 
hand, open, is pressed with force upon the breast exactly over 
the heart ; it makes its approaches with the utmost delicacy, 
and is attended with trembling, hesitation, and confusion. 

EXAMPLE. 

'Twas pretty, though a plague, 

To see him every hour ; to sit and draw 

His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, 

In our heart's table ; heart too capable 

Of every line and trick of his sweet favour : 

But now he 's gone, and my idolatrous fancy 

Must sanctify his relics. Shakspeare's All '&• Well. 

All the stars of heaven, 
The deep blue noon of night, lit by an orb 
Which looks a spirit, or a spirit's world — 
The hues of twilight — the sun's gorgeous coming — 



THE PASSIONS. 403 

His setting indescribable, which fills 

My eyes with pleasant tears as I behold 

Him sink, and feel my heart float softly with him 

Along the western paradise of clouds — 

The forest shade — the green bough — the bird's voice, 

The vesper bird's, which seems to sing of love, 

And mingles with the song of cherubim, 

As the day closes over Eden's walls — 

All these are nothing to my eyes and heart, 

Like Adah's face ; I turn from earth to heaven 

To gaze on it. Byron. 



6. — PITY. 

Pity shows itself in a compassionate tenderness of voice ; a 
feeling of pain in the countenance, and a gentle raising and 
falling of the hands and eyes, as if mourning over the un- 
happy object. The mouth is open, the eyebrows are drawn 
down, and the features contracted or drawn together. 

EXAMPLE. 

As in a theatre, the eyes of men, 

After a well-graced actor leaves the stage, 

Are idly bent on him that enters next, 

Thinking his prattle to be tedious : 

Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes 

Did scowl on Richard ; no man cried, God save him ; 

No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home : 

But dust was thrown upon his sacred head ; 

Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, 

His face still combating with tears and smiles, 

The badges of his grief and patience, 

That had not Heaven for some strong purpose steeled 

The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, 

And barbarism itself have pitied him. Shakspeare. 



7. — HOPE. 

Hope erects and brightens the countenance, spreads the arms 
with the hands open, as to receive the object of its wishes : 
the voice is plaintive, and inclining to eagerness ; the breath 
drawn inwards more forcibly than usual, in order to express 
our desires the more strongly, and our earnest expectation of 
receiving the object of them. 

EXAMPLE. 

Auspicious hope ! in thy sweet garden grow 
Wreaths for each toil, a charm for eveiy woe ; 
Won by their sweets, in Nature's languid hour, 



404 THE PASSIONS. 

The way-worn pilgrim seeks thy summer bower; 

There, as the wild bee murmurs on the wing, 

What peaceful dreams thy handmaid spirits bring ! 

What viewless forms the iEolian organ play, 

And sweep the furrowed lines of anxious thought away ! 

Campbell. 



8. HATRED. 

Hatred, or aversion, draws back the body as if to avoid the 
hated object ; the hands at the same time thrown out spread, 
as if to keep it off. The face is turned away from that side 
towards which the hands are thrown out ; the eyes looking 
angrily, and obliquely, the same way the hands are directed ; 
the eyebrows are coDtracted, the upper lip disdainfully drawn 
up, and the teeth set ; the pitch of the voice is low, but loud 
and harsh, the tone chiding, unequal, surly, and vehement, 
the sentences are short and abrupt. 



Why, get thee gone ! horror and night go with thee ! 
Sisters of Acheron, go hand in hand, 
Go dance around the bower, and close them in ; 
And tell them that I sent you to salute them. 
Profane the ground, and for the ambrosial rose 
And breath of jessamine, let hemlock blacken, 
And deadly nightshade poison all the air: 
For the sweet nightingale may ravens croak, 
Toads pant, and adders rustle through the leaves : 
May serpents, winding up the trees, let fall 
Their hissing necks upon them from above, 
And mingle kisses — such as I would give them. 

Young's Bevenge. 



9. ANGER. 

Anger, when violent, expresses itself with rapidity, noise, 
harshness, and sometimes with interruption and hesitation, as 
if unable to utter with sufficient force. It wrinkles the brows, 
enlarges and heaves the nostrils, strains the muscles, clinches 
the fist, stamps with the foot, and gives a violent agitation to 
the whole body. The voice assumes the highest tone it can 
adopt consistently with force and loudness, though sometimes, 
to express anger with uncommon energy, the voice assumes a 
low and forcible tone. 






THE PASSIONS. 405 



Why have these banished and forbidden legs 
Dared once to touch a dust of England's ground ? 
But more then, why, why have they dared to march 
So many miles upon her peaceful bosom, 
Frightening her pale-faced villagers with war, 
And ostentation of despised arms ? 
Comest thou because the anointed king is hence ? 
Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind, 
And in my loyal bosom lies his power. 
Were I but now the lord of such hot youth 
As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself, 
Eescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men, 
From forth the ranks of many thousand French ; 
Oh, then, how quickly should this arm of mine, 
Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee, 
And minister correction to thy fault ! 

Shakspe are's Richard II. 



10. REVENGE. 

Eevenge expresses itself like malice (see page 411), but more 
openly, loudly, and triumphantly. 

EXAMPLE. 

If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge. He hath dis- 
graced me, and hindered me of half a million ; laughed at my losses, 
mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled 
my friends, heated my enemies. And what's his reason ? I am a Jew ! 
Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, 
senses, affections, passions? Is he not fed with the same food, hurt 
with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the 
same means, warmed and cooled by the same summer and winter, as a 
Christian is ? If you stab us, do we not bleed ? If you tickle us, do 
we not laugh ? If you poison us, do we not die ? And if you wrong 
us, shall we not revenge ? If we are like you in the rest, we will re- 
semble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility ? 
Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his siifferance be 
by Christian example ? Why, revenge. The villany you teach me, I 
will execute ; and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction. 

Shakspe are's Merchant of Venice. 



11.— REPROACH. 

In reproach, the brow is contracted, the lip turned up with 
scorn, the head shaken, the voice low, as if abhorring, and 
the whole body expressive of aversion. 






406 THE PASSIONS. 



Tnou slave, thou wretch, thou coward, 

Thou little valiant, great in villany ! 
Thou ever strong upon the stronger side ! 
Thou Fortune's champion, that dost never fight 
But when her humorous ladyship is by 
To teach thee safety ! thou art perjured too, 
And soothest up greatness. What a fool art thou, 
A ramping fool ; to brag, and stamp, and swear, 
Upon my party ! Thou cold-blooded slave, 
Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side ? 
Been sworn my soldier ? Bidding me depend 
Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength ? 
And dost thou now fall over to my foes ? 
Thou wear a lion's hide ! doff it for shame, 
And hang a calf's skin on those recreant limbs. 

Shakspe are's King John. 



12. FEAR AND TERROR. 

Fear, violent and sudden, opens wide the eyes and mouth, 
shortens the nose, gives the countenance an air of wilclness, 
covers it with deadly paleness, draws hack the elbows parallel 
with the sides, lifts up the open hands, with the fingers spread, 
to the height of the breast, at some distance before it, so as to 
shield it from the dreadful object. One foot is drawn back 
behind the other, so that the body seems shrinking from the 
danger, and putting itself in a posture for flight. The heart 
beats violently, the breath is quick and short, and the whole 
body is thrown into a general tremor. The voice is weak and 
trembling, the sentences are short, and the meaning confused 
and incoherent. 

EXAMFLE. 

Next him was Fear, all arm'd from top to toe, 

Yet thought himself not safe enough thereby, 
But feared each shadow moving to and fro ; 

And his own arms when glittering he did spy, 
Or clashing heard, he fast away did fly ; 

As ashes pale of hue, and wingy-heel'd ; 
And evermore on danger fix'd his eye, 

'Gainst whom he always bent a brazen shield, 
Which his right hand unarmed fearfully did wield. 

Spenser. 
You make me strange 
Even to the disposition that T owe, / 

When now I think you can behold such sights, 
And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks, 
When mine are blanched with fear. Shakspeare. 




THE PASSIONS. 407 



13. SORROW. 



In moderate sorrow, the countenance is dejected, the eyes are 
cast downward, the arms hang loose, sometimes a little raised, 
suddenly to fall again ; the hands open, the fingers spread, and 
the voice plaintive, frequently interrupted with sighs. But 
when this passion is in excess, it distorts the countenance, as 
if in agonies of pain ; it raises the voice to the loudest com- 
plainings, and sometimes even to cries and shrieks ; it wrings 
the hands, beats the head and breast, tears the hair, and throws 
itself on the ground ; and, like other passions in excess, seems 
to border on frenzy. 



EXAMPLE. 



Seems, madam ! nay, it is : I know not seems. 
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, 
Nor customary suits of solemn black, 
Nor windy suspiration of forced breath ; 
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, 
Nor the dejected 'haviour of the visage, 
Together with all forms, moods, shows of grief, 
That can denote me truly : these indeed seem, 
For they are actions that a man might play ; 
But I have that within which passeth show, 
These, but the trappings and the suits of wo. 

Shakspeare's Hamlet. 



14. REMORSE. 

Kemorse, or a painful remembrance of criminal actions or 
pursuits, casts down the countenance, and clouds it with 
anxiety, hangs down the head, shakes it with regret, just 
raises the eyes as if to look up, and suddenly casts them down 
again with sighs ; the right hand sometimes beats the breast, 
and the whole body writhes as if with self-aversion. The 
voice has a harshness as in hatred, and inclines to a low and 
reproachful tone. 

EXAMPLE. 

Oh, when the last account 'twixt heaven and earth 
Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal 
Witness against us to damnation ! 
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds 
Makes ill deeds done ! Hadst not thou been by, 
A fellow by the hand of Nature marked, 
Quoted, and signed, to do a deed of shame, 
This murder had not come into my mind : 



408 THE PASSIONS. 

But, taking note of thy abhorred aspect, 

Finding thee fit for bloody villany, 

Apt, liable to be employed in danger, 

I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death ; 

And thou, to be endeared to a king, 

Mad'st it no conscience to destroy a prince. 

Siiakspeare's King John. 



15. DESPAIR. 

Despair, as in a condemned criminal, or one who has lost all 
hope of salvation, Lends the eyebrows downwards, clouds the 
forehead, rolls the eyes frightfully, opens the mouth horizon- 
tally, bites the lips, widens the nostrils, and gnashes the teeth. 
The arms are sometimes bent at the elbows, the fists clinched 
hard, the veins and muscles swelled, the skin livid, the whole 
body strained and violently agitated ; while groans of inward 
torture are more frequently uttered than words. If any words, 
they are few, and expressed with a sullen eager bitterness, the 
tone of the voice often loud and furious, and sometimes in the 
same note for a considerable time. 



K. Hen. How fares my lord? speak, Beaufort, to thy sovereign. 

Car. If thou be'st Death, I '11 give thee England's treasure, 
Enough to purchase such another island, 
So thou wilt let me live and feel no pain. 

K. Hen. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life, 
Where death's approach is seen so terrible ! 

War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee. 

Car. Bring me unto my trial when you will. 
Died he not in his bed ? where should he die ? 
Can I make men live, whether they will or no ? 

Oh ! torture me no more, I will confess. 

Alive again ? then show me where he is, 
I '11 give a thousand pounds to look upon him. — 
He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them — 
Comb down Ms hair : look ! look ! it stands upright, 
Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul ! 
Give me some drink, and bid the apothecary 
Bring the strong poison that I bought of him. 

K. Hen. O thou eternal Mover of the heavens, 
Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch ! 
O beat away the busy meddling fiend 
That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul, 
And from his bosom purge this black despair ! 

War. See, how the pangs of death do make him grin. 

K. Hen. Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure be ! 



THE PASSIONS. 409 

Lord Cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss, 
Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope. — 
He dies, and makes no sign : God, forgive him ! 

Shakspeake's Henry VI. 2d Part. 



16. SURPRISE. 

Surprise, wonder, or amazement, opens the eyes, and makes 
them appear very prominent. It sometimes raises them to 
the skies, but more frequently fixes them on the object ; the 
month is open, and the hands are held up nearly in the atti- 
tude of fear ; the voice is at first low, but so emphatical, that 
every word is pronounced slowly and with energy ; when, by 
the discovery of something excellent in the object of wonder, 
the emotion may be called admiration; the eyes are raised, 
the hands lifted up, or clapped together, and the voice elated 
with expressions of rapture. 



Gone to he married ! gone to swear a peace ! 

False blood to false blood joined ! Gone to be friends ! 

Shall Lewis have Blanch ? and Blanch those provinces ? 

It is not so : thou hast mis-spoke, mis-heard ! 

Be well advised, tell o'er thy tale again : 

It cannot be : thou dost but say 't is so. — 

What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head ? 

Why dost thou look so sadly on my son ? 

What means that hand upon that breast of thine ? 

Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum, 

Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds ? 

Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words ? 

Then speak again ; not all thy former tale, 

But this one word, whether thy tale be true. 

Shakspeake's King John. 



17. — pride. 

Pride assumes a lofty look, bordering upon the aspect and 
attitude of anger. The eyes full open, but with the eyebrows 
considerably drawn down, the mouth pouting, mostly shut, 
and the lips contracted. The words are uttered with a slow, 
stiff, bombastic affectation of importance ; the hands sometimes 
rest on the hips, with the elbows brought forward in the posi- 
tion called a-kimbo ; the legs at a distance from each other, 
the steps large and stately. 



410 THE PASSIONS. 



Your grace shall pardon me, I will not back ; 

I am too high born to be propertied ; 

To be a secondary at control, 

Or useful serving-man and instrument 

To any sovereign state throughout the world. 

Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars 

Between this chastised kingdom and myself, 

And brought in matter that should feed this fire : 

And now 't is far too huge to be blown out 

With that same weak wind which enkindled it. 

You taught me how to know the face of right, 

Acquainted me with interest to this land ; 

Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart ; 

And come you now to tell me, John hath made 

His peace with Rome? V\ 7 hat is that peace to me? 

I, by the honour of my marriage-bed, 

After young Arthur, claim this land for mine; 

And now it is half conquered, must I back, 

Because that John hath made his peace with Rome ? 

Am I Rome's slave ? What penny hath Rome borne, 

What men provided, what munition sent, 

To under-prop this action ? Is 't not I 

That undergo this charge ? Who else but I, 

And such as to my claim are liable, 

Sweat in this business, and maintain this war ? 

Have I not heard these islanders shout out, 

Vive le Boy I as I have banked their towns ? 

Have I not here the best cards for the game, 

To win this easy match played for a crown ? 

And shall I now give o'er the yielded set? 

No, no, on my soul, it never shall be said. 

Shakspeare's King John. 



18. BOASTING. 

In confidence and courage, the head is erect, the breast pro- 
jected, the countenance clear and open, the accents are strong, 
round, and not too rapid ; the voice firm and even. Boasting 
exaggerates these appearances by loudness, blustering, and 
what is not unaptly called swaggering ; the arms are placed 
a-kimbo, the foot stamped on the ground, the head drawn back 
with pride, the legs take large strides, and the voice swells into 
bombast. 

EXAMPLE. 

Captain BohadiVs Method of Defeating an Army. — I will tell you, Sir, 
by way of private and under seal, I am a gentleman ; and live here 
obscure, and to myself: but, were I known to his Majesty and the 



THE PASSIONS. 411 

Lords, observe me, I would undertake, upon this poor head and life, 
for the public benefit of the state, not only to spare the entire lives 
of his subjects in general, but to save the one-half, nay three-fourths 
of his yearly charge in holding war, and against what enemy soever. 
And how would I do it, think you ? — Why thus, Sir : — 1 would select 
nineteen more to myself, throughout the land : gentlemen they should 
be ; of good spirit, strong and able constitution. I would choose them 
by an instinct that I have. And I would teach these nineteen the 
special rules ; as, your Punto, your Eeverso, your Stoccata, your Im- 
broccata, your Passada. your Mont onto, till they could all play very 
near, or altogether, as well as myself. This done, say the enemy were 
forty thousand strong. We twenty would come into the field, the tenth 
of March or thereabout, and we would challenge twenty of the enemy ; 
they could not, in their honour, refuse us. Well — we would kill them : 
challenge twenty more — kill them: twenty more — kill them: twenty 
more — kill them too. And thus would we kill every man his ten a-day 
— ten a-day — that's ten score: ten score — that's two hundred: two 
hundred a-day — five days, a thousand : forty thousand — forty times five 
— five times forty — two hundred days, kill them all up by computation. 
And this I will venture my poor gentleman-like carcass to perform 
(provided there be no treason practised upon us) by fair and discreet 
manhood ; that is, civilly — by the sword. 

Every Man in his Humour. 



19.— PERPLEXITY. 

Perplexity, irresolution, or anxiety, collects the body together 
as if for thoughtful consideration ; the eyebrows are contracted, 
the head hanging on the breast, the eyes cast downwards, the 
mouth shut, the lips pursed together. Suddenly the whole body 
alters its aspect, as having discovered something, then falls into 
contemplation as before ; the motions of the body are restless 
and unequal, sometimes moving quick, and sometimes slow; 
the pauses in speaking are long, the tone of the voice uneven, 
the sentences broken and unfinished. 

EXAMPLE. 

Yes ; — 't is Emilia : — by and by. — She 's dead. 

'T is like she comes to speak of Cassio's death : 

The noise was high. — Ha! no more moving? 

Still as the grave. — Shall she come in? Were 't good? 

I think she stirs again : — No. — What 's best to do ? 

If she come in, she '11 sure speak to my wife. 

Shakspeare's Othello. 



20. MALICE. 

This hateful disposition sets the jaws, or gnashes the teeth, 
sends blasting flashes from the eyes, stretches the mouth ho- 



412 THE PASSIONS. 



rizontally, clinches both the fists, and bends the elbows in 
straining manner to the body. The tone of voice and ex 
pression are much the same as in anger, but not so loud. 



How like a fawning publican he looks ! 

I hate him, for he is a Christian ; 

But more, for that, in low simplicity, 

He lends out money gratis, and brings down 

The rate of usance here with us in Venice. 

If I can catch him once upon the hip, 

I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. 

He hates our sacred nation, and he rails, 

Even there where merchants most do congregate, 

On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift, 

Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe 

If I forgive him ! Shakspeare's Merchant of Venice. 









21. JEALOUSY. 

Jealousy shows itself by restlessness, peevishness, thought- 
fulness, anxiety, and absence of mind. Sometimes it bursts 
out into piteous complaint and weeping ; then a gleam of 
hope, that all is yet well, lights up the countenance into a 
momentary smile. Immediately the face, clouded with a gen- 
eral gloom, shows the mind overcast again with horrid sus- 
picions and frightful imaginations. 

EXAMPLE. 

How blessed am I 
In my just censure ! — in my true opinion ! — 
Alack, for lesser knowledge ! — How accursed 
In being so blessed ! There may be in the cup 
A spider steeped, and one may drink ; depart, 
And yet partake no venom ; for his knowledge 
Is not infected : but if one present 
The' abhorred ingredient to his eye, make known 
How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides, 
With violent hefts. — I have drunk, and seen the spider ! 

Shakspeare's Winter's Tale. 



FINIS. 



Printed by Oliver & Boyd, 
Tweeddale Court, High Street, Edinburgh. 






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